Dragon Age : Incarnations
by FantomEditor
Summary: The sequel to Dragon Age: Broken Dynasties & Dragon Age Origins The Fantom Edit. The full repercussions of Lyssa & Alistair's decision of more than 20 years ago to participate in the ritual with Morrigan are finally revealed.
1. Chapter 1 : Revelries and Revelations

Disclaimer and Author's Note:

This story takes place after the events of Dragon Age: The Fantom Edit and Dragon Age: Broken Dynasties. This is the third story of that series. Most of the events in this story take place roughly 20 years after Alistair's coronation.

If you have not read Dragon Age Origins: The Fantom Edit, here are the major plot points you may want to know (Spoilers!): Lyssa Cousland is the human noble who joined the Grey Wardens shortly before the battle at Ostagar that took the life of King Maric Theirin. During their journey to gather up allies to defeat the Blight, Lyssa and Alistair saved the life of Arl Eamon's son, Connor. They also saved the mages in the circle tower and made peace between the elves and the werewolves. Lyssa and Alistair agreed to perform the ritual with Morrigan in order to survive the slaying of the archdemon. Alistair became King of Ferelden, with Lyssa ruling by his side.

If you haven't read Dragon Age: Broken Dynasties, then know that Gildre, a new companion to Lyssa and Alistair was introduced in that story, as well as Duncan, Lyssa and Alistair's child.

This story makes many references to the history of Thedas. I used the Dragon Age Wiki for a great deal of the background information. Thanks to everyone who worked on that Wiki.

Dragon Age: Origins belongs to Bioware, along with all recognizable characters.

_**Chapter 1: Revelries and Revelations**_

_500 years before the Divine Age_

Urthemiel's pale skin glowed beneath the flowers and vines that were woven about him. The phosphorescence altered the play of light and shadow under the vibrant greens and reds and yellows of his scant covering. He reached languidly forward and took the small red fruit from the tray that was being offered to him. He contemplated it, sniffing it indulgently for a few moments before placing it in his mouth. He bit, delighting in the feeling of the firm flesh, chewing slowly, contemplatively, before finally swallowing.

"Simply wonderful," Urthemiel said. He looked at the exposed meat of the fruit for a moment, and then placed it back onto the tray. The tray was whisked away as soon as he released the fruit, the mortal that had been holding it having never once raised his gaze to look upon either of them.

"I do not know how you can stand it, brother," Peitho said disgustedly. He turned from Urthemiel to look down the stairs of the temple. Peitho could make out the details of each mortal's face in the crowd that pooled out from the base of the temple's steps far below them. They teamed about on the ground in mindless feasting and revelry.

"And I do not understand why it bothers you so, Peitho. They merely wish a reason to celebrate. What is so wrong with that? I see nothing evil in their actions." Urthemiel looked down at the masses beneath them, and smiled as he heard laughter floating up from below.

They said nothing, and stood motionless at the top of the grand staircase, the huge white marble temple looming behind them. The stairs that led down from the temple were still white only at the far edges, years of use having worn most of their surfaces down to a dull gray color. They considered the crowd in silence for some time, unmoving as statues. Peitho finally stirred first. He turned from the stairs to the temple. The structure was open-aired, and from its center a towering statue grew up into the sky, reaching above even the tops of the highest parts of the temple's walls. He craned his head back slowly. He looked up at the statue, and it was Urthemiel's face that stared back down at him from far above. Although the likeness was obvious, despite the masterful artistry that had wrought it, it failed to capture Urthemiel's beauty. Its scale and grandeur seemed wan and uninspired when the God it represented stood before it. Peitho turned from the statue to examine his brother; the dark straight hair, the amber colored eyes, the pale unblemished skin, the firm muscles playing beneath, the softly defined places where the muscles met. He shook his head.

"You do not understand. This is just how it starts." Peitho waved an arm out over the stairs. "You should try to disguise yourself at least. You should not show the mortals your true body. When they come to truly know you, that is when they will come for you, and this," he whipped his arm in the opposite direction, indicating the temple behind him, "is how they will be able to track you down and bind you," Peitho finished. He leaned against a pillar and crossed his arms.

"Peitho, you think so ill of the mortals. Wasn't it you who convinced us to stay all those years ago, even though it meant parting with our brothers and sisters? Wasn't it you who told us we could help the mortals move on as well, that we just had to be patient?"

Peitho kicked away from the pillar. He walked down the first few of the temple's steps and then stopped. He watched the mortals, his head slowly panning across the crowd. "I was a fool. The mortals will never be able to pass the barrier between worlds. We have all seen what happens when we try to help them. The Magisters have proven this well," Peitho said bitterly.

Urthemiel walked down the steps to stand behind Peitho. He put his hand on Peitho's shoulder and then looked down at the people as well. At the base of the temple stairs a tight crowd of mortals had appeared. They began to sing. Urthemiel raised his arm out over them, encompassing the singers in his gesture. "They do not look so bad to me, Peitho. They do not all lust for power as the Magisters do. These, at least, are happy and free. They celebrate the gift of life." He turned his gaze away from the chorus and back to Peitho.

"You cannot see that anymore, can you?" Urthemiel watched Peitho, who was in turn still watching the crowds below. "Perhaps Dumat was right… you've spent too much time in the deep places… studied too closely for too long the evil that pools there." His brow furrowed—it had been sometime since he had thought of Dumat. "I wonder where he is. He never misses one of my bacchanals." Urthemiel paused. "I haven't seen him since my last feast, and until last season I was beginning to think he had moved on from this world. But then I caught a few a stray thoughts from him…"

Urthemiel closed his eyes and became completely still. The space around him was suddenly quieter. After a minute, he opened his eyes. He looked out beyond the crowds to the horizon. "I know he is still here."

Peitho turned suddenly and looked at Urthemiel. His gaze was penetrating, taking in every detail. He paid special attention to Urthemiel's face, the minor play of the muscles beneath the skin, to Urthemiel's posture, to gestures so minute, so subtle, that no mortal eye could have discerned them.

"No." Peitho began. "Dumat has not left us. It is obvious why he is not here. He is not here because he can no longer stand the sight of the mortals. He has hidden himself away from them. He does not wish to remain here, to see what will come—what I have known for years. These creatures, they breed and mass now, and will certainly soon spread across this world. But then what Urthemiel? It will not change how they act, what they are at their very core. It will not diminish evil—it will just multiply it. There is nothing so good that it is worth saving from this world, save the warriors of light," Peitho said confidently.

"I do not believe it." Urthemiel turned to Peitho. "And Dumat would never believe such a thing, either. We are not omniscient Peitho. It is not for us say they are beyond redemption, to say that these beings cannot become more than they are now. It is not for us to pick our favorites and discard the rest."

It was clear Peitho was unmoved by Urthemiel's argument. Urthemiel was hesitant to continue, but after a brief internal debate, he said, "I know of your plans of late, Peitho. Maker some call you. I know you are behind it. And Peitho, the things they are saying, invoking your new name… You should be ashamed. Is this what we have become? Shall we debase ourselves, becoming tyrants like the Magisters? We are Gods, Peitho, but we are not all knowing. We cannot say without a doubt that the mortals will never rise beyond this life. The warriors themselves are mortal. Surely this means something?"

"All it means is that the warriors of light are meant for a higher purpose. These mortals," Peitho said gesturing out over the cavorting crowd, "you say they mean no ill, yet look at those who serve them. The Elves, a people of peace, a people who were once ageless, enslaved by these humans you say are worth salvaging. While you're revelers are here, drunk and well fed, others are destitute—starving while they live amongst these very revelers. They die because not one among these will ever care enough to help. And that is just normal for these creatures—this is how they are at their best. The Magisters, they are even worse. They do everything they can to try to enslave even the gods who gave them their power. They summon demons, Urthemiel, they willingly summon them into their own bodies," Peitho stopped for a moment, recognizing that he was finally getting through to Urthemiel. "It is disgusting what they do to themselves. You can see it, surely. They are not worth helping to the next world if they cannot even save themselves in this one."

Urthemiel looked back down on the crowd, his appetite leaving him as Peitho's words sunk in. He turned from the crowd below, a frown on his face.

"There is truth in what you say, Peitho, as there always is. Perhaps... perhaps I am ready to leave, to move on to Plenarius. But I cannot do so without Dumat. He is our brother, and... his thoughts are troubled. I fear he may be trapped somewhere, I know not how or where, but I feel it. And he is in danger." Urthemiel wrapped his arms around himself as if to ward off a chill.

Peitho walked up beside Urthemiel. A satisfied smile spread across his face for just a moment before he recomposed himself, putting his hand on Urthemiel's arm. "Then you and I shall find him. Let us go. We can begin looking tonight. And we shall all depart for Plenarius together."

**

_Two years before Duncan's coronation_

Duncan looked out at the people swirling around the ballroom floor. The colors of the gowns clashed garishly with each other. It was as if each woman vying for a spot on the throne tried to stand out by having an even brighter colored gown than the next. The effect nauseated Duncan with sensory overload. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

Duncan was unfazed by the attention he was getting. Every young woman in the room took any chance they could for an excuse to speak with him. Duncan scanned the crowd for something that might call him away from the girls. He saw his mother, Lyssa, carrying on a conversation far across the room, but keeping her eye on him the entire time, carefully observing him.

Lyssa watched her son. At the age of sixteen, Duncan was nearly as tall as his father, Alistair. He had the same fair hair she and Alistair shared, and had her deep blue eyes. The boyish look of his face was fading fast. He was quickly becoming as ruggedly handsome as his father. He was still a little on the reedy side, as many boys his age were, but his muscles held the firm definition of years of training. She was sure that did not go unnoticed by the palace butterflies flitting about her son. Lyssa felt a swell of maternal pride, thinking on her son's wide renown for his skill. She had trained with him so often, and had since he could stand and hold a weapon. Duncan had picked up Lyssa's style adroitly and uncannily quickly as a child. Now he was better at melee combat with his daggers than just about any of the knights, regardless of the weapons they chose to wield. In two years, when he became King, Duncan would likely be as formidable a fighter on the battlefield as any of his men.

Lyssa noticed her son's disinterest in everything that was going on around him and felt a bout of empathy overcome her. She herself had attended many such balls when she was his age. Her parents thought it was the best way for her to meet suitable nobles. Lyssa was just relieved the Landsmeet had bowed to the pressure from Alistair about how soon their son should marry. After the Grand Cleric fiasco, Lyssa and Alistair had taken advantage of the nobles' unsteady footing and managed to get them to back off the strict schedule they had laid out for Duncan's life. Abandoning the prearranged marriage was the first concession they managed to force. But to placate the nobles, they agreed to have these functions where Duncan could meet eligible women, one of whom, they hoped, he might be willing to woo. The idea that Duncan might be like other noble boys his age, and want to attend balls to court girls was yet another example, in a seemingly endless procession, of how little the nobles understood her son—the man who would soon be their king.

Lyssa excused herself from the small knot of conversation she was ensconced in and made her way across the room. When she reached Duncan, she grabbed his hand firmly and then yanked it as she marched briskly away. Duncan was caught by surprise and nearly off-balance for the first few steps he hastily took to catch up with Lyssa. She dragged him out of the large room, down a hallway, not stopping until she had pulled him all the way to the courtyard. She had started laughing the last few steps before she let him go. She was still laughing as she turned to Duncan. They stood close to a tall row of thick hedges lining one edge of the courtyard gardens.

"I'm sorry, Duncan. I know how you must feel about these things, but the absurdity of it… they do not understand." There was a small stone bench right up against the hedge. Lyssa sat. "You know your father and I do not wish it for you."

Duncan sat next to her and looked up at the stars.

"I understand their motivations. They wish me to father an heir. That I cannot do," Duncan said. He was looking at the sky, contemplating the stars. As always, he was calm and stoic.

Lyssa considered for just a moment, and then realized his statement wasn't one of preference, but of fact. She was caught unawares by this, and looked shocked as she asked Duncan, "What do you mean? How do you know?"

Duncan looked away from the sky. He held up his hand, fingers gently splayed, and looked at first the back, then the palm of his hand, then back at his mother. "This body... I am too damaged... the taint. I have borne it too many years. It would be futile to even try, even if I had the luxury of the time to attempt it, which I do not. There is much to be done."

Lyssa looked at Duncan. Her shocked look was fading, revealing a sad, concerned expression. "I suppose you are right. But the nobles will not like it."

"No," Duncan said pursing his lips, "but I will find a way to distract them. Once I am King, I will go through all the proper motions. By the time they know the truth... well, it won't really matter anymore. I will have accomplished what I have set out to do."

"You still haven't told us what you've been planning. Alistair wonders if perhaps you've been sitting up in that office of yours cackling away as you draw up plans to take over all of Thedas," Lyssa laughed.

"No," Duncan said with complete seriousness, failing to see the joke, "But, I do have important things to do. Do not worry mother. Everything will fall into place."

"Well, I just hope you are living life to the fullest while you can. It still pains me that you must assume the crown so young, but they would not have it any other way. I know they still hope everything will magically work out and the Theirin line will be sustained. Either that, or one of those not so unobtrusively eying the throne themselves will wait for you to prove incapable of siring offspring and play the Landsmeet to replace you," Lyssa said.

Duncan and Lyssa sat in silence for a while. The sound of the minstrels who were playing inside the ballroom filtered out through the night air and mingled with that of the crickets and frogs. Lyssa thought the music sounded more pleasant with the natural accompaniment of the night creatures. They both turned as they heard heavy footsteps approach. Lyssa smiled, recognizing the sound of the gait. As a warrior, Alistair was never very good a sneaking. He rounded the thick shrub grinning.

"I thought so," he said bowing to Lyssa and reaching out for her hand. Lyssa giggled taking it. He pulled her out of her seated position and danced with her. Their bodies were touching as he slowly danced Lyssa in circles.

"You know, if anyone saw us dancing this close, it would be quite the scandal. I believe we're supposed to keep at least six inches apart," Lyssa joked.

"Well if anyone tells us so, I'll just let them know that the dancing instructor from my templar training days was sadly lacking," Alistair said pressing his cheek to Lyssa's, "not to mention uncomfortable. Imagine dancing this close to an old man in full armor."

Duncan watched them for a moment, a small uncharacteristic smile on his face. Alistair turned to him, catching the smile. Surprised, Alistair stopped dancing. Lyssa turned to see what he was looking at.

"I don't get to see that enough," Alistair said wistfully as he resumed dancing.

Duncan realized his father was talking to him and looked down at his hands.

"I'm sorry, father," he said.

"Don't be sorry, Duncan. I love you no matter how you are. You could have horns and pointy teeth and chase nobles around all day biting them in the backside and I'd still love you," Alistair said smiling, "You're my son."

"He'd probably love you even more with the biting though," Lyssa said teasing.

Alistair made a face at Lyssa and tickled her. She laughed hard and pulled away from him.

Duncan shyly watched them play around, still smiling.

A pity, Duncan thought to himself, that we must leave them so soon.

They all turned to the sound of Teagan clearing his throat.

"Well, apparently the party has moved outside. Not that I mind, but... the ladies all expected a chance to dance with the young prince. I do believe a few wanted to wish him a happy sixteenth birthday as well," Teagan said putting his hand on Duncan's shoulder.

Duncan nodded and stood.

"Oh Teagan, must he? He has been in there all night with those women pawing at him. Some of them are almost as old as I am," Lyssa said.

Teagan smiled at Lyssa. "If I had been pawed at by a lady such as yourself at that age, I don't think I'd be hiding out in the gardens."

Teagan suddenly blushed at his uncommon bluntness. Over the years he had remained admiring of Lyssa from a distance. He had his own wife and children now, but he had never managed to get over his fascination with the queen.

I must have had too much ale, Teagan thought.

Lyssa giggled at the compliment and Teagan turned to hastily apologize to Alistair for his breach of etiquette.

"Oh don't even bother," Alistair said waving away the inevitable flustered apology from Teagan. "You've been biting your tongue all night. I see the dress she's wearing. I can't blame you."

"What is wrong with my gown?" Lyssa asked looking down at herself, "Hannah said everyone in Orlais is wearing this style. You know I don't know anything about this stuff."

"Oh yes, it is quite fashionable in Orlais. We here in Ferelden just aren't used to seeing something so snug, dear," Alistair said giving Lyssa's backside a squeeze.

"Oh!" Lyssa cried out and hit Alistair on the back of the head, "You are a weasel, you know that? In any case, thank you Teagan, you are most kind. But I still don't care for all these women trying to bed their way to a crown. If Duncan was at all interested, I don't think I would give it a second thought. But it is clear he uncomfortable with all this. I was just trying to give him a little space to breathe."

"It is okay mother," Duncan said giving Lyssa a light peck on the cheek. "I will go back. It will make the nobles happy. You stay here with father and enjoy the night. That will make me happy."

Teagan waved to Lyssa and Alistair and followed Duncan back into the ball. Alistair wrapped his arms around Lyssa and kissed her forehead.

"At least he understands diplomacy," Alistair said.

"Oh he'll do fine. You didn't have the luxury of all the teachers he has had over the years, and look at everything you have accomplished. He'll be a wonderful King, just like his father," Lyssa said looking into Alistair's eyes.

"Well," Alistair said leaning in to kiss Lyssa, "when you put it that way."

They swayed in slow circles to the hazy music that drifted out into the night.


	2. Chapter 2 : Bloodlines

_**Chapter 2:Bloodlines**_

_Six months before Duncan's coronation._

Alistair woke suddenly and bolted upright. The dark bedroom chambers felt chilly. Thinking the temperature was what woke him, Alistair padded over to the large fireplace, tossing a few logs onto the glowing embers. They began to flare up immediately. Alistair rushed back to the bed, the hair on his skin standing up trying to capture what heat it could. He dove under the covers and leaned over to Lyssa. He put his cold hands on her naked skin, expecting her to shriek a little and laugh as she woke up.

Lyssa did not move. Alistair got closer to her. He could hear her slow breathing, but her skin was cool even to his cold hands. He began to get worried, and he put his hand on her forehead to feel for a fever. Sweat was beaded up on her brow. Suddenly her skin twitched. It was an eerie thing for Alistair to see, as if something invisible was running up her arm, causing the flesh underneath to jerk involuntarily.

Alistair rolled Lyssa over and shook her gently.

"Lyssa. Lyssa, wake up, you're scaring me," Alistair said close to her ear.

Lyssa did not stir. Alistair got out of bed and lit a few candles. He picked up a clean cloth and dipped it into a water basin that had been close to the fire. He pulled out the warm wet cloth and wrung it a few times before heading back to the bed. He dabbed at Lyssa's face with the cloth, cleaning the sweat off and gently wiping her eyes. She still did not waken.

Alistair pressed his ear to her chest. He could hear her heartbeat, but instead of the slow and steady rhythm of sleep, her heart was racing. He leaned back, concern turning to all out fear. He stood up and hastily pulled on a pair of trousers. He pulled a sleeping gown from Lyssa's drawer and carefully put her into it. Then he went to his door and jogged down the hall to Gildre's room.

He opened the door quietly and walked inside. Gildre's room was a smaller version of his own. The four poster bed along one wall was smaller than the royal bed, but still ample for Gildre and Jasper. Alistair tiptoed over to the side of the bed and looked down at Gildre. Gildre was covered up to his waist in a sheet. He was lying on his back, Jasper's arm draped over his abdomen. Gildre's left hand was placed atop Jasper's. Alistair knelt down and carefully touched Gildre's shoulder.

Gildre's eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Alistair blearily, half asleep, and smiled. He lifted his hand from Jasper's and touched Alistair's bare chest.

"This is a good dream," Gildre said drowsily as his eyes closed again.

"Gildre," Alistair whispered grabbing Gildre's hand gently, "I need you to come to my chambers."

At the sound of Alistair's whisper Gildre became alert. He opened his eyes and focused on Alistair's concerned face. Gildre nodded and carefully moved Jasper's arm off of his body. He slipped out of bed. Alistair turned abruptly so that his friend could cover himself up.

"Sorry," Gildre said blushing as he picked up some cotton trousers from the clothes on the floor.

Gildre pulled them on and turned to his friend, gesturing that he was ready to go. Alistair and Gildre padded back down the hall to the royal bedchamber. Gildre followed Alistair in and shut the door quietly behind him. Alistair walked to the side of the bed and touched Lyssa's forehead again. The sweat from her body had now soaked through her night dress. The fabric had become translucent with perspiration. Gildre looked down at Lyssa and gasped.

He touched the wet night dress between Lyssa's breasts and held his hand there for a moment.

"Her heart is racing! Is she ill?" He asked leaning over her and pulling off the sodden night dress.

Alistair, reached out to stop Gildre for a moment, thinking it was unseemly for him to see Lyssa without her clothes, but thought better of it. Gildre handed the soaked garments to Alistair and lifted Lyssa, wrapping her in one of the soft blankets. He then picked her up with considerable effort and carried her to the couch next to the fire. Alistair stood dumbfounded, too frightened to move.

Lyssa was heavy for Gildre, since he was an elf, but he had urgency and fear coursed through his veins, so her weight seemed a trivial thing to him. He sat Lyssa down on the couch and moved to put more wood on the fire.

"Alistair," Gildre said turning to his friend after dropping two more logs onto the flames, "How long has she been like this?"

"I don't know. She was fine when we... I just woke up a few minutes ago. I thought it was the chill of the room that woke me..." Alistair stuttered.

He stepped forward and walked around to the front of the couch, touching Lyssa's cheek.

"She won't wake," Alistair said as a panicky edge to his voice.

Gildre grabbed Alistair's shoulder. "Calm yourself friend. I will go get Connor. Keep her warm and dry. I will bring more blankets."

Gildre ran out of the room. Alistair stared down at Lyssa's impassive face. He touched her bare shoulder peeking out from under the blanket. He found her hands and clasped them in his own. Her fingers were so cold. He rubbed her hands in his own warming them up. He was still rubbing them when Connor came wearily stumbling into the room. Connor had managed to put on his mages robes before coming up to the royal bedchamber, but they were rumpled.

"Gildre tells me Lyssa is ill?" Connor asked. Gildre came into the room and shut the door. He was carrying a basin of water, some clean cloths and had a bundle of blankets tucked under his arm.

"She is not hot, but she sweats as if she has a fever. Her skin is cold to the touch, and I cannot wake her. She was fine when we fell asleep. And her... skin, it was twitching oddly," Alistair said.

"Her heart is beating like mad," Gildre said putting the things he carried down. He dipped a cloth into the basin and handed the damp cloth to Alistair, who dabbed at Lyssa's brow.

Connor leaned over her and chanted something under his breath. A blue light emanated from his fingertips. The light became tendrils, which reached out and touched Lyssa's skin. The tendrils snaked their way around Lyssa's face, disappearing into her mouth, ears and nose. Connor looked up at Alistair confused.

"I sense no illness or injury. She is physically fine. But there is something... I cannot grasp. I don't understand," Connor said touching Lyssa's face with his fingers.

Just then the door to the royal bedchamber opened and Duncan walked in. Gildre looked up and saw a younger version of Alistair stride up to the back of the couch. Duncan looked down at his mother.

"What is it, father?" Duncan asked. His voice had lost all traces of childhood a year back and his tone was deep.

"Your mother, she will not wake. Connor says he senses no illness in her. We cannot reach her..." Alistair trailed off and looked up at Duncan pleadingly.

Connor and Gildre exchanged confused glances. Neither knew why Duncan had shown up just then. Alistair didn't seem to care. He was now truly in the throws of panic. Duncan looked down at his father and put a reassuring hand on his arm. Then he reached forward and touched the top of his mother's head.

They all jumped back in shock when Lyssa's eyes flew open. She took in a huge breath as if she had just surfaced after swimming underwater.

"No!" she screamed waving her hands in front of her face. "Get away from me! Get away! I will not let you!"

Alistair leaned forward and gathered Lyssa up in his arms, holding her tightly against him and rocking her gently. Duncan took a step back, a mix of anger and horror on his face. When Alistair looked up at Duncan the look vanished. But not before Alistair caught a glimpse of it.

Connor looked from Lyssa to Duncan, and decided it was not his business to pry. Something had happened here that he didn't quite comprehend, but he knew he never really understood exactly what being a Grey Warden was all about. He figured this was just another Grey Warden related health issue. Connor stepped over to a small table in the corner of the room that had two couches on either side. He sat and waited, just in case Alistair should need anything more of him. Gildre went around to the front of the couch and sat at the end nearest the fire, letting it warm him up. He rubbed his hands on his bare arms.

For a few moments, everyone was silent save for Lyssa, who wept quietly into Alistair's chest. Then Duncan looked up and spoke.

"Connor, I think we're fine here now. Sorry to have woken you," Duncan said turning to Connor.

Connor stood and nodded. "It was no trouble. Let me know if there is anything else you need. I'm headed back to my room."

Connor left and shut the door behind him. Duncan looked from Gildre to his father before he spoke.

"Has this happened before?" Duncan asked.

Alistair looked up at his son and shook his head. "No. Well, I mean, she's had nightmares before sure, but that was long ago, right after the joining. If this is the nightmares returning... I have never heard of the nightmares being... like this. Or so soon."

Alistair felt a dread fill him at this thought. Duncan frowned, looking down at his mother pensively. Alistair did not fail to see more of the anger on his son's face. The lack of emotion in Alistair's son, made it so that when Duncan did on occasion show some kind of feeling, the moment stood out like a beacon. Now it was clear that Duncan was disturbed by something.

"What is it?" Alistair asked hesitantly.

Duncan looked at Alistair his face turning passive again and he put his hand on his father's shoulder.

"It is nothing we can do anything about now," Duncan said cryptically. "I am tired. If you like, we can speak on it more tomorrow. I will come back if she has another of these dreams, but I do not think that will happen again tonight. Rest well father. And you Gildre. I will see you both tomorrow for the hunt."

Duncan turned and left the room. Gildre reached out and touched Alistair on the arm.

"Would you like me to go?" he asked.

"No... stay a while if you would. I know I should rest... but I don't think I will be able to get back to sleep tonight," Alistair said as he rocked Lyssa.

Lyssa had quieted, and he could feel her slip into an uneasy sleep. For the rest of the night he sat with Lyssa wrapped in his arms, Gildre at his side. Lyssa woke several times throughout the night, but she never roused enough to mumble more than a few words before drifting back off to sleep.

Gildre watched as Alistair eventually fell asleep, Lyssa still in his arms. His drowsiness was pulling at his eyelids. He was curious about how Duncan had managed to wake Lyssa, but he didn't dwell on it too much. He was just happy Lyssa seemed to be mostly back to normal now. He stood and crawled into the large royal bed. Gildre fell asleep as the sun started to rise.

**

Lyssa woke with the sun. The stretch of light hit her closed eyelids and her mind stirred. She opened her eyes and looked up at Alistair who had fallen asleep holding her. Someone had draped a blanket carefully over him and tucked a small cushion under his head. He was snoring a little, since his head was tilted back.

Lyssa smiled at the sight before carefully disentangling herself from his arms. She was wrapped up in a blanket from the bed, and the fire was slowly dying out. She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers trying to remember how she had gotten here. She stepped over to the bed quietly and pulled back the curtain there to see Gildre tangled up in a few blankets. He was wearing only his trousers and they had started to slip down his waist.

Lyssa tilted her head and sat on the edge of the bed next to Gildre. She saw a torn night dress on the floor. She touched it with her toe and it felt damp and cold. Lyssa reached out and swept a stray lock of hair off of Gildre's forehead with her fingers. She smiled down at Gildre as she pulled a blanket over his body before going into her dressing room.

Lyssa sat down on a little stool, still clutching the blanket around herself. She stared at her clothes, probing her mind, looking for answers. She remembered coming into the bedchamber last night. She remembered taking off her clothes and looking for her night dress when Alistair came into the room. He had stopped her from finding it, and Lyssa flushed at the memory. Then, after they had made love, Lyssa remembered falling asleep.

She didn't remember waking, but there was something just beyond her recollection, something she couldn't quite grasp. Lyssa pulled on some clothes and slipped into some shoes. She stepped out of her dressing closet and looked at the two men sleeping in her room. She tiptoed out to the hallway and closed the door softly.

Lyssa hadn't walked down the hall far before Jasper stopped her, nervously bowing and lowering his eyes. Lyssa sighed inwardly. The young man would likely never be comfortable around her or Alistair. Lyssa understood, though. She knew Jasper blamed them for the fact that Gildre would not commit fully to him.

"You're looking for Gildre?" Lyssa asked.

"Yes... I... he wasn't in bed this morning when I woke, your majesty. I was just wondering if something had gone wrong," Jasper said nervously.

"As am I," Lyssa said absently as she looked away from him, thinking. She turned her eyes back to Jasper hastily, lest he get the wrong impression, "I mean to say, I'm sure we'll know when he awakes. But he is resting at the moment in the royal chambers. I would fetch him for you, but it seems he and Alistair must have been up all night dealing with some issue. I don't want to wake Alistair, so... if it is alright with you, I would ask that you let Gildre sleep a little longer before calling on him."

Jasper narrowed his eyes for a second. Lyssa could almost see the thoughts running through his mind. She was sure it sounded bad to Jasper that Gildre was not only sleeping in the royal bedchamber, but that waking him might wake Alistair. She figured his mind must have gone down a certain path.

"Alistair is a light sleeper. He is on the couch in front of the fireplace, and I fear if I wake Gildre from the bed, Alistair will hear us," Lyssa explained further, slightly annoyed that after all this time Jasper still questioned Gildre's relationship with Alistair. She pushed the annoyance away quickly however, reminding herself that Jasper had plenty of reasons to be suspicious. A part of Gildre's heart most certainly belonged to Alistair. Jasper just didn't understand that Gildre was no longer interested in Alistair in that way.

"Yes... of course," Jasper said recovering quickly. "I never thought..."

Lyssa sighed openly this time. She placed her hand on Jasper's shoulder, "Jasper, I am sorry we cannot be friends. I wish it were differently. Please know that even if we are not the best of companions, that Alistair would not do anything to hurt you in this manner, even should he be so inclined. And I think you know Gildre would not hurt you either."

Jasper looked Lyssa in the eye, anger giving him the backbone to speak. "With all due respect, your majesty, I think should the occasion ever occur that you and the King would decide to invite Gildre to share your bed, that Gildre would have no thoughts of me as he climbed in between those tantalizing sheets."

Jasper turned and stalked off down the hall. Lyssa stared after him a bit dumbfounded. She had thought for a moment of correcting him, of telling him Gildre would never do any such thing. But she doubted her word would even matter to the young mage.

"Perhaps when Duncan becomes King, we should send Gildre on his way," Lyssa said to no one in particular. "Then maybe he will settle down with Jasper."

Lyssa continued walking down the stairs to the first floor of the castle. She greeted various servants and knights as she made her way through the hallways. She stood at the entrance to the courtyard and touched the stone arch that led out to the warm natural respite in the middle of the cold stone castle. She walked over to the fountain and sat before it, glancing up at the window to her bedchamber.

Lyssa stared at the splashing water, letting her mind go into a trance as she concentrated on the blockage in her memories. Something seemed to be keeping her from the events of last night. She wondered why this would be as she carefully thought back.

After a few minutes of concentration, she began to remember flickers of something. She felt like something was dissipating, letting her mind finally bring last night's events into focus. She began to remember the dream. An intensely uneasy feeling came over her as the dream resurfaced.

Lyssa remembered being in a cavern deep below the ground. The cavern reminded her of the Deep Roads. She did not feel the darkspawn in the memory, however, but there was a presence more menacing nearby. It was hunting her, watching her. Lyssa could feel her heartbeat pick up at the mere memory of the dream. The presence came closer to her, but Lyssa found she could not turn around to face it. It felt strangely familiar. Lyssa then recalled the feeling of the archdemon she had seen in her dreams and during the joining all those years ago. The feeling was similar, though not quite the same. Just as her body prepared to be savaged by the mouth of what she was now sure was a great archdemon hovering over her, Lyssa started. A hand was on her shoulder and the memory vanished, once again blocked by an impenetrable force.

"Mother, you should not think on such things," Duncan said behind Lyssa.

"Duncan!" Lyssa exclaimed, her breath ragged. Lyssa rubbed her arms to warm them up. Her skin was as cold as the water splashing in the fountain.

"You cannot think on that," Duncan said kneeling before his mother and putting his hands on her knees. He stared up into her eyes unblinkingly.

"What... how have you done this? I know you are no mage. I do not understand," Lyssa said trembling.

Duncan ignored the question and instead continued, "If you remember, it gives him purchase. Do not let him in willingly. I will block him from now on, but you cannot try to remember him," Duncan said squeezing his mother's knees for emphasis.

Lyssa steadied herself. "Duncan, you must explain yourself. You can trust me. How can you block my memories," Lyssa asked.

"It is complicated. In time, I will tell you everything. But for now you must trust me. I am not a mage, you are correct. But I do have powers," Duncan said looking up at his mother.

"Because you were born with the taint?" Lyssa asked.

Duncan looked at her sideways for a moment before answering. "In a manner of speaking, yes. But you must listen to me now. Do not think on him. This is vitally important."

"Who," Lyssa asked a little afraid to know the answer.

"Urthemiel. My brother. He is... he is seeking me out. He found you instead," Duncan said.

Lyssa sensed Duncan wasn't telling her the whole truth, but she did not pry. She knew well enough that if Duncan did not wish to reveal something, he could not be persuaded otherwise.

"Your... brother," Lyssa said hesitantly, not sure what exactly Duncan knew.

Duncan stood and looked down at his mother, his arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You... know about... and..." Lyssa said. She was unable to meet Duncan's gaze.

"Morrigan. And the child she had. My brother. Yes," Duncan said.

"How long have you known?" Lyssa asked.

"Many years."

"What did he do to me? I... it felt like I was in the fade. But I could see everyone. They were trying to help me. I shouted at them, but they could not hear me," Lyssa said remembering the dream.

"Yes. That is a part of the fade. Urthemiel pulled you there. I pulled you back out," Duncan said.

"Are you sure it was... your brother? It could have been something else. It felt like...," Lyssa began.

"The archdemon. They are one in the same. When you first met him he was the corrupted dragon. He is something else now. Morrigan gave him new flesh. But it matters not. He still... is dangerous," Duncan said as he glanced up at the royal bedchamber window.

"Why... couldn't I get out of the fade? Shouldn't I have just been able to wake up?" Lyssa asked holding her arms around herself.

Duncan paced a little as he stared at the fountain, "It is not the same place that you go to dream. That is a part of the fade few use. The fade is tricky to navigate. There is a gap, between the veil and the rest of the fade where demons do not tread. Mages who know how to use the fade shroud can take advantage of this part of the fade. It is close to reality, that is why you could see the world around you. This is where he took you. You would not have been able to wake from there."

Lyssa stared at the fountain realizing how little she knew of her own son. Often she would stare at him, waiting for the strange thing to happen that would prove he was different. Now that she had heard everything, she found herself wondering just how human he was. What had the taint done to him? She pushed these thoughts from her mind. She did not want Duncan to think she feared him. He was her son, and Lyssa had known enough evil to know Duncan was not it. She found she wasn't so sure about the being Duncan called his brother. At the thought Lyssa remembered Alistair.

Lyssa grabbed the amulet around her neck. "Alistair... your father will ask about the dream. How can I tell him it was his other... son."

"It is best you let him believe it was a dream of the calling. It won't happen again, so you can say it must have been a random dream. I know it will be hard on him to think this, but you cannot tell him the truth. If you do, he will seek out my brother in an attempt to destroy him. He cannot do this. It is too dangerous. It is a task that falls to me," Duncan said.

Lyssa stared up at Duncan in disbelief.

"You ask so much of me, Duncan," Lyssa said wiping away tears. "This will tear Alistair apart. If he thinks I am having the dreams again..."

Duncan sat next to Lyssa on the bench and wrapped his arms around her as he spoke, his voice changed and Lyssa felt genuine concern in it, "Mother, you must trust me. The outcome would be far worse if you did not do this. I promise, in a few years time this trial will be over. Things will return to normal."

"I do not know if I can do this thing you ask. There must be another way," Lyssa pleaded as she gripped the back of Duncan's tunic in her hands.

Duncan held his mother tighter as something within him forced its way to the forefront of his mind.

"Mother... I am so sorry it has to be this way. I wish..." Duncan said burying his face into his mother's hair and letting a few tears of his own slip out.

Lyssa heard the sound in Duncan's voice. The emotion she so rarely heard there tugged at her inside. The unfamiliar warmth and caring from her son jolted her on many levels. She knew she could not deny this request when he asked in this manner.

Lyssa took a deep shuddering breath to calm herself and nodded. "I will do as you ask."

Duncan reached up and touched Lyssa's wet cheek tenderly as he spoke. "I am sorry mother. I wish things could be..." Duncan's voice trailed away. Lyssa could see an unusual amount of anguish on her son's face.

"Duncan?" Lyssa asked hesitantly as she put her hand on Duncan's shoulder.

The look on Duncan's face disappeared. Duncan looked at Lyssa as he usually did, his expression wooden and demeanor composed.

"Father wakes. He is panicking a little, mother. You should go find him," Duncan said standing.

Lyssa rose and watched as Duncan made his way into the castle. She looked up and saw Alistair standing at the window looking down at her. He smiled, relieved, when he saw her and put his hand on the glass. Lyssa smiled back at him and held up her finger indicating she would be there in a moment. She steadied herself for the lies she must soon tell. Not only would she have to indicate to her husband that she might soon have to take the trip all Grey Wardens take in their final days, but she would not be able to tell Alistair of Duncan's abilities.


	3. Chapter 3: Burdens of the New King

_**Chapter 3:Burdens of the New King**_

_The evening of Duncan's coronation_

Duncan sat in the castle courtyard near the tall fountain. He held his new crown, considering it. The gaudy thing was uncomfortable and Duncan was glad he would not have to wear it often. Wynne, Duncan's huge black Mabari, sat quietly by his side, panting in the humid night air. He felt his mother and father approaching and turned to greet them. They had been standing at the top of the stairs during the ceremony, and he hadn't really had the opportunity to talk to them throughout the entire day.

"Mother, father," Duncan said holding out his hands.

Wynne hopped up and jumped up on Lyssa's chest licking her face affectionately as Lyssa laughed and shooed the huge Mabari away. Duncan patted his thigh, and Wynne obediently moved to sit next to him.

Duncan had learned his hardest of lessons only in the last year or so. It had been difficult to master affection and the normal behavior of a eighteen year old man, but both of his parents, and Arl Teagan had told him ascending to the throne would be a far less laborious process if people found his demeanor more amenable. It was trying for Duncan to play the part, and he welcomed the times he found himself in the company of people who had come to accept him for what he was. His parents were among the few people who Duncan could truly relax with.

"So, now that you are King I suppose you'll finally make us move out of the big bedroom then," Alistair said, forgetting for a moment that joking with his son was a wasted effort.

Duncan looked blankly at his father for a few seconds before he realized that his father was being his usual jocular self. He smiled attempting to stop the inevitable look of distress in his father's face but it was too late.

Alistair waved his hand and sighed. "I'm sorry, Duncan. You don't need to humor me."

Duncan felt the uncomfortable wrench in his stomach that had started coming whenever he could not connect with his father. Duncan was rarely upset by things. The approval of his father and mother were the only things that seemed to regularly stir an emotional response in him. Even this was new to him. In the past, he had been able to buffer himself from such emotions; to have them, analyze them, but not be compelled by them. But he found that this was becoming more difficult of late. He began to wonder if it had something to do with the physical changes within his body.

Alistair saw the emotion cross his son's face and felt bad for having been so brusque. He reached out and hugged Duncan spontaneously.

"I'm sorry father. I wish I could be different for you," Duncan said as he allowed himself some comfort from the embrace.

Alistair chuckled as he rubbed his son's back. "Oh no you don't. Trust me, if you had to hear my offhanded cracks all day... well you can just ask your mother about that. You're saving yourself a lot of grief being who you are."

Duncan felt an involuntary smile tug at his lips, but the moment flashed away like an ember rising into cooler air, and Duncan forgot why he was amused and the smile disappeared from his face. Lyssa had noticed the look on Duncan's face. She tried to keep own her face emotionless as she filed this away for later thought.

In the months since Duncan had pulled her from the fade and had revealed some things about himself, Lyssa had begun to wonder just exactly what her son was. She had always assumed before that he was simply a very different kind of Grey Warden. But she had read books about the Grey Wardens, cramming in facts and tales of old, and no one ever talked about this kind of behavior coming from a Grey Warden. And Alistair was beginning to suspect something as well.

Ever since Duncan had pulled Lyssa from the fade, he had been showing more emotion than Lyssa was used to seeing from her son. She was not sure why, or if Duncan's new sensitive state was even related, but it had not gone unnoticed by Alistair. Alistair had in fact, seemed quite elated about it. Lyssa was relieved on that count. Telling Alistair that she had had a dream of the darkspawn had been one of the worst nights of her life. Alistair had not taken it well at all. But Lyssa had no more dreams. That, combined with Duncan's new found feelings, had helped Alistair get past the incident.

Lyssa was glad of this. Not only did it put Alistair at ease about her dream, but it distracted him from a new problem she was having. Lyssa had been afraid to sleep for more than short periods at a time, fearful that the presence Duncan called Urthemiel would be able to find her. Despite the fact that Duncan had assured Lyssa she was now safe, Lyssa found herself terrified every time she lay down to sleep. She had devised clever ways of waking herself up at periodic intervals so that she would never sleep more than an hour at a time. It was exhausting, and taking its toll on her. She feared Alistair would discover it. She did not want him to believe she was having the dreams again, and at the moment, Alistair was even starting to believe the dream Lyssa had six months ago was a fluke.

Alistair pulled back from his son and put his hands on Duncan's shoulders.

"Look at you now. King of Ferelden," Alistair said smiling at Duncan.

"I hope this does not mean you will stop giving me counsel. Your advice is invaluable to me," Duncan said making an effort to please his father.

"Of course not," Alistair said easily. "As long as you should need me, I will be happy to lend a hand. I don't think you need me too much in that area though. You make ruling look easy. I swear when you went before the Landsmeet last week you probably shocked them half to death with your knowledge of every single book you've ever read. It's almost like you have some sort of a codex up here," Alistair tapped on Duncan's head, "ready to be accessed whenever you need it."

Alistair stepped back from his son and put his arm around Lyssa.

"I know the answer, but I promised I would ask. Are you sure you would not reconsider marrying one of the nobles the Landsmeet suggested?" Lyssa asked.

Duncan looked at his mother and shook his head, "As you both now know, it will do no good. I do not wish to put a woman through that. Any who have agreed to marry me believe I will father the heir of Ferelden. I will not. We all know this. I wish we could tell the council of nobles, but I am afraid the news would not sit well with them, and I do not wish to distract them at this time."

"After all these years, the Theirin line will finally die. If Eamon were alive... it would break his heart," Alistair said sadly. He remembered vividly the conversation Lyssa had with him about Duncan's revelations regarding his chance to sire an offspring. Alistair had figured as much, but it had not stopped him from hoping.

Duncan looked at his father and smiled uncharacteristically. "Do not fret so father. I will make sure Ferelden is left in capable hands. A successor has already been chosen."

Alistair laughed, "You little scamp! Not even on the throne for one day and already trying to give it up. You are definitely my son! So tell me, who is this future ruler of Ferelden you have yet to tell us about? Or is this another of your secrets with your mother?"

Alistair turned to Lyssa. She looked a little confused.

"No... He has not told me of this. Duncan?" Lyssa asked.

"You'll have to trust me for now," Duncan replied cryptically.

Alistair and Lyssa exchanged a look. Alistair shrugged and turned back to his son. He knew well enough by now that if Duncan did not wish to share something, there was no point in pressing him. And, over the years, he had come to trust his son's advice. On more than one occasion it was Duncan's sound guidance that had helped Alistair traverse some truly tricky situations he had gotten involved in. Despite the intricacies of the situation, Duncan almost always seemed to know the right thing to do, the correct subtle pressure to apply or bit of ground to give. It was all high politics, and as much as Alistair hated politics himself, his son had grown masterful at it.

"You will be headed back to Amaranthine, then?" Duncan asked.

"Yes," Lyssa said, "we have another joining soon. We have almost ten recruits if you can believe that. The Grey Warden numbers continue to flourish. We'll have almost two hundred after this joining. I almost feel as if we are no longer needed there."

"I have a proposition for you," Duncan said.

"Ordering us around all ready?" Alistair said laughing, "That's my king!"

Duncan continued without missing a beat, "It seems the Arishok is interested in making official our diplomatic relations with Seheron. I can think of no better ambassador to send than the two people who made relations between our nations possible. I believe he is even considering allowing you to start up a Grey Warden outpost there. Though, he is hesitant. Sten has been speaking to him on this."

"The Chantry will not appreciate this move. They will see it as allowing the Qun into our lands," Lyssa said.

"No. But the Chantry has no power over my authority. They lost their place in the Council Chambers after the plot six years ago. The nobles do not trust them anymore. It will be a long time before their influence reaches any governing body in Ferelden. Making peace with Seheron is much more important for Ferelden than making peace with the Chantry. This move will help maintain the policy of separating the Chantry from the ruling process. It will send a strong message to the Divine, one that I think she needs to hear," Duncan said.

"It is quite far away, Seheron. Are you trying to get us out of your hair?" Alistair asked. There was a hint of a joke in his voice, but his question was more pointed than he let on. Alistair watched Duncan's reaction carefully.

But Duncan was not in the mood for subtleties tonight.

"You are perceptive father. There are other... reasons for this decision. One of which should be obvious. For the nobles to look on me as a competent ruler, I will need to stand alone for a while. If you are in Seheron, it will be obvious the choices I make are my own. The rest of my reasons aren't really important," Duncan said. His thoughts went to his mother.

Alistair stuck his hand out into the fountain and let the water splash across it. He turned to Lyssa and looked at her. She was staring up at the sky thoughtfully. She turned to Alistair and nodded.

"Okay then, Duncan. We will set sail tomorrow. We'll take Sten with us, and I would like to take Connor and Gildre as well. Unless you should need them for something?" Alistair asked.

"No. Teagan can help me find a new Castle Mage and Kennel Master. And I would rather not have a steward at this time, perhaps later. Besides, I don't think I could pry Gildre away from you two if I tried. It is my understanding Jasper already tried that and failed. And if the man Gildre loves can't convince him to stay in Ferelden – only an hours ride away from where you have been living - then I know I won't have the power to make him stay here while you are off on some distant island. You may want to take a few Grey Wardens with you as well. Perhaps the two new Q'unari Grey Wardens you have recruited? That may help some with diplomatic relations," Duncan said.

"Alright then. I'll let everyone know to get ready to sail," Alistair said hugging Duncan once more.

Alistair left then, knowing Lyssa would want to speak with Duncan alone before she left Denerim. Lyssa waited for Alistair to leave, then turned back to Duncan.

"Are you sure of this? Should something happen, it is at least a day's travel by sea from Seheron to Denerim, and that is as long as the weather permits it." Lyssa said.

"It is for the best, Mother. I... need to distance you from Urthemiel. This is the most efficient way. You really will do good in Seheron, that is no subterfuge. The things you will do over the next couple years will have a great impact on Ferelden's future relations with the Qun," Duncan said.

"But the real reason... is your brother?" Lyssa asked.

"I must deal with him," Duncan said sighing. "Now that I am King I can turn my full attention to him. Have you had any more of the dreams since that night?" Duncan asked.

"No," Lyssa said feeling goosebumps spread over her skin at the memory.

Duncan stared at the water for a time. He sensed something was wrong with his mother, but he knew he had managed to keep Urthemiel away. Duncan could feel Urthemiel searching even as he stood here. Ever since that night when Duncan had pulled his mother back out of the fade, Urthemiel had been seeking her. Duncan was using a great deal of his power to shield her from his brother. He often wondered if his slips in emotional control were due to the prolonged effort to hide his mother from his brother. Duncan turned back toward Lyssa.

"You must tell me if they come again," Duncan said darkly, anger in his voice.

Lyssa felt fear growing inside the pit of her stomach at the sudden appearance of such anger in her son. Duncan realized his mother's emotions had shifted and he calmed himself quickly, reaching out and touching Lyssa's hand gently.

"Please do not be afraid. I only... I only wish to protect you and father," Duncan said.

He pulled his hand away from Lyssa's suddenly and pressed his palm to his forehead as if in pain. Lyssa moved to him and put her hands on either side of his face. She raised his gaze to hers.

"I wish you would confide in me. I know you wish to keep your secrets, but I am not so blind that I cannot see something is harming you, physically and mentally. Is it your brother? Does he attack you even now?" Lyssa asked.

Lyssa's hands were cool on Duncan's face. As always, her touch seemed to quell the emotion inside of him. He reached up and put his hands on top of his mother's and gifted her with a rare smile.

"No," Duncan said closing his eyes. "No. It is not my brother that does this. I simply grow weary is all. It has been a long day and I have much to think on. Trust me mother. I know it is hard for you; you are so very independent. But sometimes you must rely on others to do things for you. I know you wish to help, and there will come a time when I will call upon you. But trust that I will know when the appropriate time draws near. Now, you should go. Safe travels mother."

Lyssa let her hands drop and kissed her son on his forehead before she turned to leave. Duncan watched her go and felt the lurch in his stomach again. This time it was the unfamiliar feeling of sadness that made him queasy. He sat on the edge of the fountain and felt the splashing water occasionally land on his back. He felt the emotions recede. Duncan allowed his mind to slip into blankness. Once again he felt completely in control. His eyes turned back to where Lyssa had walked and he stood again. Wynne stood and following Duncan as he walked away from the fountain, water dribbled down his legs from his soaked shirt, leaving a small trail behind him.

Now that she will be far away, Duncan thought, I have the time I need. Now we will see who is quicker; my brother or me.


	4. Chapter 4 : White Lies

_**Chapter 4: White Lies**_

Lyssa was packing her things when Alistair came into the room. He walked up behind her and put his arms around her.

"I hope he knows what he is doing. If something goes wrong here..." Alistair said hesitantly.

"If something goes wrong we can come back quickly enough. Duncan knows what he's doing. His reasons are sound," Lyssa said tossing her leather armor into a pack.

"Well, I suppose you're right," Alistair said. "I just... it's a feeling I have. That night you had the dream, what, six months ago? He's been different ever since. It's almost as if two people live inside of him. One is that detached young man whose feathers never ruffle no matter what happens. But now, for the first time since I can even remember, I feel like I am getting the chance to meet another Duncan, one who laughs and smiles. One who actually seems to care for me in a capacity other than caregiver. And here he sends us away to a distant island. I don't want to miss this new Duncan. Don't get me wrong, I love Duncan no matter what... but the way he has been lately... I have grown much more attached to him. I hate myself for feeling that way," Alistair said frowning.

Lyssa walked over to Alistair and wrapped her arms around him. "Don't feel bad about that. It's completely understandable."

"Perhaps so, but it doesn't mean I feel any better about it," Alistair said.

He turned to fiddle with a tassel at the window.

"Do you know if Jasper is coming with us?" Alistair changed the subject abruptly, trying to ignore his unhappiness at the thought of leaving.

"I believe he is. He's not very happy about it though. I feel bad for the poor man," Lyssa said slumping down onto the bed wearily.

"Yes well, I can't exactly force Gildre to stay in Ferelden now can I? The last time I mentioned something to him about perhaps... going into retirement, I thought he was going to cry. That's one of my things you know, no crying men around me. Or women for that matter. I really don't want to see anyone cry," Alistair said.

He walked over to Lyssa's vanity and distractedly sorted through some of the trinkets there. He picked up a small vial of perfume and sniffed it. He yanked his nose away quickly, setting the thing down. He figured it must have been a gift from someone who didn't like Lyssa very much.

"That's just because seeing other people cry makes you cry," Lyssa teased.

"Not true," Alistair said turning to her with a grin. "Adley cried all through his knighting, and did you see a single tear? Did you?"

"No... but I did see cotton in your ears and you stared at the sky the whole time," Lyssa laughed.

"Damn! I thought I was sneakier than that," Alistair said.

"Yes, well… you made quite the terrible tyrant," Lyssa said.

He smiled at Lyssa, already feeling a little better. He walked over and sat by her on the bed, looking at her through half lidded eyes.

"It's going to be a while, I suspect, before we'll be back in this room. Shall we make the best of the time we have left?" Alistair asked leaning in to kiss Lyssa.

Lyssa pushed him away playfully. "Alistair, you are incorrigible. Everyone is waiting for us down on the ship. Any minute now someone is going to come up here knocking on the door to see what is taking so long."

As if she had conjured it up, a knock came at the door. They both turned to look at it, and then Alistair looked back at Lyssa, a mock scowl on his face. Alistair stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it to find Gildre.

"Oh, you're both here. Good. I wanted to talk to you about something," Gildre said stepping into the room. He walked forward and sat on the bed next to Lyssa.

"You couldn't have waited thirty minutes or so?" Alistair asked closing the door.

Gildre looked up at Alistair confused for a moment. "Thirty min... Oh," Gildre said laughing, "So sorry Alistair, but better me than Sten. Which reminds me, that is why I am here. You have to talk to Sten. He wants to bring several breeding Mabari with him on the trip, including a litter of pups. I told him there just isn't room on the ship for all that. He says we can leave behind our things. Says we can get new things in Seheron," Gildre said exasperated.

Lyssa giggled and Alistair tried not to laugh.

"I will talk to him," Lyssa said. "I'll meet you all down at the docks."

Lyssa picked up her pack and made to leave.

"You don't want to bring any of this stuff with you?" Alistair asked gesturing to the things on her vanity.

"No. The nobles who gave me those things won't be in Seheron. I think I can get away with leaving them and not worrying about who I might insult. Plus, I am no longer the queen of Ferelden, remember?" Lyssa asked.

"Yes," Alistair said his eyes half closing, "you reminded me last night in the gardens. I don't think I will ever forget... no wait, what I meant to say is... you're no longer queen? Perhaps I need another reminder. I forget things rather easily at my age."

"I wonder if Duncan knows what he has unleashed," Gildre said laughing. "I think the people of the castle are going to get bored quickly after you two. Duncan strikes me as a no nonsense king."

"Let's hope so," Alistair said, a fatherly tone in his voice.

Lyssa hiked her pack onto her back, "Don't forget to pack the ceremonial things for the joining. Sten thinks he may have convinced the Arishok that Grey Wardens are worthy of the Q'unari. I hope so, they would make a formidable force."

"Well I hope our craft doesn't get searched on the way into the harbor. I don't relish the idea of explaining the vial of archdemon blood to the Q'unari," Alistair joked to Gildre after Lyssa left.

"Alistair," Gildre said as soon as Lyssa was out of earshot. "I know she hasn't wanted to tell you, so I would appreciate it if you didn't mention anything to her... but I am a little worried about Lyssa."

Alistair turned to face his friend slowly. His mouth was set in a flat line and his eyes no longer crinkled around the edges with mirth.

"What is it, Gildre?" Alistair asked, hesitating momentarily.

"She... hasn't been sleeping much. You know... after she had that fitful dream a few months back. The one you couldn't wake her from. I noticed her nodding off one afternoon, and said something innocently to her about how tired she looked. She kind of panicked and brushed me off. I knew there was something wrong then. I finally got her to tell me, but only if I promised not to tell you or Duncan. She has been afraid to sleep for any length of time. She's been purposefully waking herself up every hour or so. I wouldn't normally tell you, a confidence is a confidence for a reason. But I am too worried to keep this secret. What if we were to be ambushed by pirates or something? She isn't on her best game and she won't be able to protect herself. Not to mention I think it may be making her ill. She hasn't been eating much either," Gildre said.

Alistair clenched his hand into a tight fist. He was angry and fearful at once, but what he felt most was frustration because he didn't know how to help Lyssa. He remained silent, his fist slightly unclenching, then clenching again absently, rhythmically, as he just stared at the wall.

A familiar uneasy feeling crept up on Gildre, and something that had been niggling at the edges his thoughts finally came into sharp focus; if Lyssa's dreams were still being haunted by the taint, then… he forced himself to push the thought away. He turned his attention back to Alistair.

Alistair didn't see the wall in front of him. He was busy playing back the last six months in his mind, trying to see where he might have, no, should have noticed something was wrong with Lyssa. He cursed himself for not paying more attention. If the taint was affecting her dreams, Alistair thought, and his heart raced. His mind immediately went to his darkest recurring nightmare, replete with details from years of subconsciously self-imposed reflection and embellishment, where he saw Lyssa making her final assault far beneath the earth, alone, surrounded by a sea of darkspawn in the Deep Roads. And his nightmare didn't stop with her death. Something dark and scared in him filled out the dream with details of the Darkspawn defiling her remains afterwards.

No, no, he thought, I cannot lose her, not yet.

"Is it... is she having the dreams again... so soon? Is that why she's afraid to sleep?" Gildre asked. It was clear from his tone that he feared he was correct, but had to ask, just in case there was some other explanation.

Alistair was frowning, but suddenly the frown went to a contemplative thin line. His brow furrowed. "But how can this be? It's only been about nineteen years since she went through the joining. This... this is too soon. I'm not having the dreams yet, and I underwent the joining before her. There are still many Wardens we know that have carried the taint for longer than us."

Gildre stood up from the bed and went to his friend. He took Alistair's hand, "I did not want to frighten you. But I thought you should know. Alistair, if she is having the dreams..."

Gildre trailed off and Alistair pulled away from him. He faced the wall and let his forehead rest on the cool stone there. He crossed his arms and sighed heavily.

"If she is, then I will go to the Deep Roads with her," Alistair said feeling a lump grow in his throat. "But for now, I will make the best of the time I have left. And... she should sleep. She cannot avoid the inevitable simply by staying awake. You are right, it is too dangerous for her to travel about so unobservant. Gildre, I'm sorry that you had to break this confidence, but I must confront her about it," Alistair closed his eyes. He let out another sigh, and then his breath caught for just a moment.

I must stop dwelling on what might come, Alistair thought, no… what must come eventually. But later—much later.

Alistair took a deep breath. Without turning from the wall or even opening his eyes, he told Gildre, "She will resist. And I can't just knock her out... But maybe Connor can do something discreetly that would give her a chance to rest for a while."

Gildre found himself unable to respond. He stared at Alistair's back, wishing he could comfort his friend, but he found his own despair overwhelming him. The idea of losing both of his friends so soon was too much for him to think about. Gildre reached forward, but just as his hand was about to touch Alistair's back, he changed his mind and turned to leave. Just before he left the room he heard Alistair speak.

"Thank you for telling me, Gildre," Alistair said his head still leaning against the wall.

**

Gildre headed down the stairs of Vigil's Keep toward his own room. He had a few more things to gather before he met Lyssa at the ship. When he arrived at his room, he found Jasper waiting there for him, sitting on the bed. Gildre walked over and sat next to him. He tried not to betray his unease.

Gildre reached up and touched Jasper's cheek. Jasper was short for a human, an inch shorter than Gildre who was about average for an elf. His dark hair was slightly curly, and was cut fairly short. He had hazel eyes, which were obscured somewhat by his spectacles. Gildre had noticed Jasper right away all those years ago, not because he was strikingly handsome—he wasn't unattractive, but the young mage was no Alistair in Gildre's eyes—but because of how easy it had been to make Jasper laugh. Jasper had genuinely seemed to enjoy Gildre's company. After returning from stopping the Grand Cleric's plot to take over Ferelden, Gildre had found himself turning to Jasper more and more. They would just talk about things that happened during the day, or about life in general. Jasper really seemed to listen. Unlike Alistair and Lyssa, Jasper gave Gildre his undivided attention. Gildre knew Jasper had no other distractions in his life, and that made Gildre happy—to know that someone valued him over everything else.

But Gildre also felt incredibly guilty at times. Gildre was Jasper's entire world, and he shared everything with Gildre. But Gildre still found himself returning to Lyssa or Alistair when he was particularly troubled or concerned about something. Gildre knew this bothered Jasper, but he still found himself unable to behave any differently. Sometimes Gildre fretted that his relationship with Jasper was doomed from the start. He wondered if during their long span of years together, which went back years before he had even met Jasper, Alistair and Lyssa hadn't laid claim to the lion's share of his affections, and there just wasn't enough left over to allow any other relationship to thrive.

Gildre let his hand drop from Jasper's face, instead moving it to rest on Jasper's hand.

"Is there something wrong?" Gildre asked. He almost dreaded the answer. Gildre had told Jasper that he would be going to Seheron. When he had, Jasper had been crestfallen. Gildre knew Jasper had expected that once Lyssa and Alistair abdicated the throne that Gildre would retire as King's Steward and finally settle down.

"I was waiting for you here. I wanted to talk to you about something," Jasper said.

Jasper tried not to look into Gildre's eyes. He had fallen hopelessly in love with Gildre almost the first instant he had seen the young elf. Gildre was improbably handsome, dashing and charming. His deep green eyes and dark straight hair were set off by his sharp pale features. He had a fairly masculine face for an elf, and he was always in the fine shape of a battle-seasoned warrior. Jasper always felt a little out of sorts when he was with Gildre. He never really understood why Gildre, who could have had his pick from among dozens of unabashed admirers from around the castle, would settle for a fairly average human.

Gildre's eyes betrayed his concern. Jasper found himself pausing, having trouble stringing his words together, desperately forcing himself to continue before he changed his mind.

"Curse you, Gildre. Do not look on me like that. I'll never be able to say this otherwise," Jasper said with a hint of anger in his voice.

Gildre looked away from Jasper. He was hurt by his lover's tone, and the worry he had been feeling was now turning to dread.

So this is it, Gildre thought bitterly, I am finally to get what I deserve for being so selfish all these years. Well... I do deserve it.

Jasper took a deep breath and spoke quickly, his words tumbling in to each other, before he lost his nerve. "I love you. You know this well, Gildre. And I believe you when you tell me that you love me. I just don't think you love me as much as I love you. But my love doesn't fade or lessen simply because I know this. Andraste knows I've prayed that it would, but it does not. I feel physically ill when you are away and in danger. My heart flutters when I catch a glimpse of you in the hallways of the castle. My body buzzes with delight when you smile at me. And when you touch me... and I know how lucky I am. That you could have anyone you want. I see how others look upon you. But you chose me. I don't know why, but you have."

Gildre turned back to face Jasper, opening his mouth to stop him, but Jasper held up his hand before he could speak.

"No, let me finish. I sometimes wish you hadn't chosen me. Because sometimes you make me feel like all I get is leftovers, leftover time, leftover attention, leftover love. Whatever meager bits might be leftover after you've given them their share," Jasper said unable to say Lyssa and Alistair's names. "But I cannot help but love you, so I have made that… enough. I knew it would be like this since the very beginning. But Gildre, you need to know that my own heart is becoming worn out. I don't know how much more I can take. Some days there is more pain than comfort. I cannot continue to let myself be hurt in this way," Jasper said sadly.

"You... You're leaving me then?" Gildre asked. He put his hands in his lap and looked down at his knees. He couldn't bring himself to try to argue with Jasper to change his mind. He wanted to, but he saw his motivations for what they were—selfish. Although it hurt tremendously for Gildre to do it, he kept silent. If Jasper had finally found the strength to end this, Gildre would not try to stop him.

"Yes," Jasper said, reaching over to rest a hand on top of Gildre's. "Unless you tell me there might be a chance. I... I love you enough to give you more time. A little more time. If you can tell me honestly that you think... that eventually you will find me enough, and give me all of you, not just what is leftover. I will go with you to Seheron. But don't ask me to stay if there is no chance. I don't want to hold you back from finding someone who might actually command your whole heart."

Jasper moved his hand away and put it in his own lap. He could feel tears threatening to spill and forced his sadness back. His wavering vision cleared as he blinked. He waited for some response from Gildre, but it never came. Gildre simply sat in silence next to Jasper. After what seemed an eternity, Gildre spoke.

"I'm sorry, Jasper. I want to be the right person for you. You're the only one I would even consider leaving... them for. Maybe... once we are in Seheron, and things settle down, I'll be ready," Gildre said.

Gildre felt weak for saying it. He felt weak and manipulative and hated himself for it. It didn't help that as soon as the words left Gildre's mouth, Jasper pulled him into an embrace and held him for a long time. Gildre wrapped his arms around Jasper. Although he could not hear them, Gildre could feel small sobs coming from Jasper. He was ashamed; Gildre had let his own fear of being alone again overpower his better instincts. But still, knowing this, he could not pull away from Jasper and tell him so. The idea of being alone especially terrified Gildre with what was happening to Lyssa. The matter-of-fact way Alistair said he intended to follow Lyssa into the Deep Roads, if that was indeed where she would be headed soon, darkened his mood even further.

I might lose them both, he thought, and then be without Jasper as well. I'd be completely alone.

Gildre let out his own small sob. Tears streaked his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he chanted softly. He felt like a drowning man grasping at empty air.

**

"Sten," Lyssa laughed at the sight of the huge man. He was trying to hide three squirming puppies in his tunic. "I see those Mabari pups. I already told you, you can only bring four grown Mabari and the five pups from Ditra's litter. These guys have to stay."

Lyssa touched the squirming tunic and an excited muffled yip came out. Sten blushed a little, and Lyssa smiled in surprise. She didn't think she had ever seen the Q'unari blush.

"Ditra can nurse these ones. She has already done so several times before. Their mother has already bonded with a human. The human is headed off on a long trip. These pups may be neglected by their mother. Ditra is their only hope," Sten said ominously.

Lyssa eyed Sten suspiciously. "If I didn't know you better, I might accuse you of exaggerating." Sten met her gaze, unblinking and earnest. She shook her head. "Fine. But no more, okay?"

"Thank you, kadan."

Lyssa watched Sten's huge back as he went below decks to stow the pups with Ditra's own. She noticed the two Q'unari Grey Wardens eying Sten with curiosity. They mumbled something to each other and went back to securing the cargo.

Lyssa turned to see Connor approaching her. His reddish colored hair was even brighter in this light. He was sporting a small goatee similar to the one his uncle Teagan wore. Lyssa noted how much more Connor was looking like his Uncle all the time as he approached.

"Connor, looking forward to the trip I hope? I wouldn't want to take you away from your new friend," Lyssa said as she leaned against a crate.

"Oh, Claudia and I are not serious... not yet anyway. We're going to send messages to each other for a while. And I've already made a promise to Uncle Teagan that I would come back and visit as often as I can. So I will see her then. I'm going to take things slow this time. I'm not going to make the same mistakes I made with Hannah," Connor said. He carefully placed a crate with the word 'Fragile' written multiple times on every side down on the deck.

Lyssa was glad Connor seemed to be more at ease talking about Hannah. She had felt truly awful for Connor, as he stood at the altar, waiting to be married to a woman who would never show. It was perhaps the most public way for anyone to learn their beloved had broken up with them. A huge crowd, practically the entire city, had turned out for the event. The crowd packed the chantry and spilled out into the streets. After all, Connor was not only the castle mage. Teagan was his uncle, the Arl of Redcliff and Regent of Ferelden. Everyone who could make it from miles around was there, trying to be seen, hoping to impress upon Teagan what good friends they were. Teagan had been heartbroken for his young nephew. He wished Eamon had been around to comfort his son, but he had passed away six months before the wedding. He had done his best to step in and act in Eamon's stead, but the young man had been understandably shaken and inconsolable.

"Well, I'm glad you've found someone whose company you enjoy," Lyssa said putting her hand on Connor's shoulder, "you just let us know whenever you want to visit Ferelden. I'll personally make sure you are on the next ship here."

"Thanks," Connor said with genuine gratitude. He fumbled in his robes and a small vial fell out, clattering towards Lyssa's feet.

"I'll get that for you," Lyssa said bending over to pick up the vial.

Connor leaned over Lyssa quickly, his hand hovering over her head. A silver wisp of smoky magic slid from his fingers and seemed to sink into Lyssa's head. Lyssa stood and handed the vial to Connor. Connor tried to hide his guilt. He trusted Alistair's word that this was for the best, but he wasn't deceitful by nature, and he didn't enjoy surreptitiously putting the spell on Lyssa.

"There you go. I think we are about all set. I wonder where Alistair is. Surely he can't still be looking for the ritual stuff," Lyssa said walking toward the plank that led to the dock.

"Nope, I found it," Alistair said walking up the ramp with a crate. He placed the crate on the ground and wrapped his arms around Lyssa, pulling her toward him in a tight embrace. He stroked her hair and looked over at Connor, who nodded to Alistair.

Alistair buried his face in Lyssa's hair and inhaled.

"Is everything alright, Alistair?" Lyssa asked concerned.

He was holding her so tightly, and she could feel the tension in him.

"You know I hate sailing. I ate a big breakfast today. Although I really enjoyed it, I don't relish the idea of seeing it again," Alistair said pulling back and smiling.

Lyssa smiled back but she could tell Alistair wasn't telling her the truth. He was bothered by something and he was lying to her about it. She looked out at Gildre who was approaching, Jasper in tow. She suddenly scowled a little as the connection occurred to her. She turned back to Alistair and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

"You shouldn't worry about such things. Likelier than not, everything will be fine," Lyssa said.

Alistair got the distinct feeling Lyssa wasn't talking about him losing his breakfast over the side of the ship.

"Sometimes," Alistair said, "I wish you were the warrior and I was the rogue. Then you'd see how frustrating body language can really be."

Lyssa looked at Alistair sideways. She didn't say anything more because she wasn't eager to get in an argument with him. She could tell he was upset at her, but at this particular moment there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it.

Gildre came aboard with Jasper in tow. After a few more crates had been loaded up, Sten took the helm and they pulled anchor. Alistair went into the captain's cabin sullenly. He sat on the bed and kicked off his boots before lying back. He felt the ship begin to move and his already queasy stomach became worse. He wasn't sure how long he lie there before he heard a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," he said grumpily.

Lyssa poked her head around the door. Alistair didn't even look up. She walked over to the bed and sat at the foot. Alistair turned his head toward her and sighed.

"Why didn't you just tell me you were not sleeping? It would have been better to hear from you than someone else," Alistair said sadly.

Lyssa played with her tunic nervously.

"I didn't mean for it to happen that way. Gildre cornered me. I had every intention of telling you. I just... I didn't want you to worry. You were already so stressed out about Duncan's crowing, I didn't want to add to that needlessly," Lyssa said.

"Needlessly?" Alistair asked standing and pacing around the little cabin. "Were you just going to leave me? Head off to the Deep Roads without me then?"

"What? No! You don't understand. I would never... Of course not. I just..." Lyssa trailed off feeling tears come to her eyes. She loathed misleading Alistair this way. But Duncan had asked her not to tell Alistair anything, and even Duncan didn't know Lyssa was afraid to sleep for fear of running into Urthemiel again.

Alistair rushed to Lyssa's side and pulled her too him. "How can I help you with this if you don't tell me about it? I don't want you to have to do this alone."

Alistair pulled Lyssa close to him and held her for a while. He felt his tunic grow damp under her face.

"Have you been having more of them then?" Alistair asked his voice faltering.

Lyssa used Alistair's tunic to wipe her face and pulled back.

"No. Absolutely not. Just the once. I don't want you to think otherwise. I know you've no reason to trust me on this since I have been hiding... my fear from you. But it is the truth. I've just been... too frightened to sleep. The dream was so awful. I couldn't stand it if I had another. I don't know why I'm so afraid of this. In all my life there is only one thing I have feared more," Lyssa said reaching up to touch Alistair's face. She did not need to voice this fear for Alistair to know what it was. His eyes softened and he took her hand, kissing the knuckles.

"Shhh, everything is okay. I believe you," Alistair said pulling Lyssa closer to him.

Alistair looked down at Lyssa and could see the effects of Connor's spell setting in. Lyssa's eyes drooped heavily. He carefully leaned her back in the bed. He took off his tunic and trousers and then undressed Lyssa, who was on the verge of unconsciousness, down to her underthings so she would be more comfortable. Alistair then pulled a thin blanket over them both as he curled up beside her. The spell he asked Connor to cast was working quickly. He wrapped his arms around Lyssa and held her head against his shoulder. He ran his fingers up and down her arm soothingly.

Lyssa felt herself becoming sluggish and she clutched at Alistair as she felt drowsiness overcome her.

"Alistair," she said in a small terrified voice, "I'm... getting so... tired."

"Shhh," Alistair shushed Lyssa while trying to remain calm himself. Lyssa's panic scared him to the core. Lyssa was unshakable. He'd seen her shout defiance at giant venomous spiders as she dangled off a cliff half paralyzed, jump into hordes of darkspawn with nary a thought of her own life, and watched her jump onto a Dragon. But that one dream spooked her so much that she had been forgoing sleep for months to avoid having more like it. Alistair's old friend and commander, Duncan, never spoke of the dreams of the calling this way. Nor had any of the Grey Wardens Alistair had spoken to over the years. He began to wonder if it was indeed a dream of the darkspawn, or if it was something else altogether.

"I'll be here. I'll stay by you all day if I have to. You need to rest. I will wake you if you seem distressed in the slightest. But you cannot do this to yourself. You must sleep," Alistair said kissing Lyssa's forehead and stroking her hair.

Lyssa finally let herself succumb to her drowsiness. Alistair felt her body go limp and he let his head fall against the wood paneled wall behind the bed. He glanced out the little porthole and stared at the round blue patch of sky that he could see. He wondered idly what there could possibly be in this world that would scare Lyssa so. The idea of it made him shiver. He pulled the blanket up a little more.


	5. Chapter 5 : New Recruits

_**Chapter 5: New Recruits**_

Sten's boat traveled through the waters swiftly toward Seheron. Connor had whipped up such a wind, that the front of the boat skipped across the waves hardly creating any wake. Jasper came up to relieve his friend for a while.

"I'll take over for you old mate," Jasper said lifting his staff and beginning a chant to call upon the wind.

"Thanks!" Connor shouted over the sound of the whipping sails.

Connor headed down below decks to find something to eat. He walked along the barrels and sacks of supplies until he found a huge sack of apples. He smiled, wondering if this was Alistair's personal stash as he snagged a few, tucking several into his sleeve for later. He thought about going above deck, but decided his cold nose could use a chance to warm up.

He moved aft and found Gildre sitting at the dining table that filled up the small living area of the boat. Ten hammocks swayed in the corner of the room, five rows of two, one above one below, attached between the great support beams of the boat. At the moment none of them were occupied. Connor wasn't surprised as he had seen Sten and the two Q'unari Grey Wardens above deck. Lyssa and Alistair had stayed in the captain's cabin since Sten had begun insisting it was their room.

"They have made claim to that bed more times than I wish to imagine. It is now theirs," Sten said grumpily.

"Based on that logic, half of Amaranthine is also theirs," Gildre had said jokingly.

"Yes. I do not go into the gardens anymore either," Sten had replied.

Connor couldn't help but chuckle at the memory as he sat down. Gildre was reading a small book when he saw Connor slip an apple out of his sleeve.

"Where do you stash all those things?" Gildre asked cheerfully.

"Mage robes are very practical, despite what Alistair may say. I have many hidden pockets in this thing. It's great for raiding the larder late at night. The cooks never suspect me," Connor said slipping another apple out of his sleeve and tossing it to Gildre.

Gildre tipped the apple toward Connor in thanks and took a bite. He found it difficult to maintain his cheerful facade, however, and his smile slipped a little. Connor looked at Gildre and noticed something was wrong.

"Are you and Jasper fighting?" he asked hesitantly.

"No... not exactly," Gildre said. He was surprised Connor had asked. Connor generally tried to stay out of any conversations regarding Gildre and Jasper, since he was friends with both.

"I'm not trying to pry, Gildre. You just seem a little down is all. It's been a while since I have seen you like that," Connor said.

"Don't worry about me. I'm just being rightfully punished for my inability to commit is all," Gildre said unhappily.

Connor chewed his apple thoughtfully before he spoke. "Normally, you know I would never say anything to you about this. I've been friends with you for ages now. And Jasper and I have been close since my Harrowing. At one time I thought, 'How great! Two of my friends are getting together!' But now I don't know. You both seem pretty miserable to me. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. It happens, I mean look at me and Hannah. I loved that woman dearly. I thought she loved me. I pushed her into marriage. And she didn't want it. I humiliated myself in front of practically all of Ferelden because I was too blind to see it was never going to work out between us. Maybe... you and Jasper need a break... to see how you feel when you have some distance."

Gildre laughed a little. "You're not getting cynical on me are you?" he asked.

"No, not cynical. I think Claudia's fantastic. But I'm being careful. I want to be sure she feels about me the way I feel about her before I jump in head first is all. I'm not going to force it, not this time," Connor said leaning forward on his elbows.

Gildre watched the swaying hammocks for a while. "I think that's fine advice for Jasper. But I think what you should be telling me is, 'Stop being such an arse. Jasper's a great guy and your mooning over someone who you know full well will never have that kind of relationship with you.'"

Connor looked down at his thumbs and scraped some dirt from beneath his fingernails with a splinter of wood.

"Perhaps. But... I think we both know you haven't been mooning over Alistair for some time now. I think that's what really bothers you. That despite the fact that you've gotten over your... crush on Alistair, that Jasper isn't enough for you. I think if Jasper were the one... well, I don't think you'd have any trouble leaving Alistair and Lyssa behind.

"I thought I would never get over Hannah. I dated several girls with no success. I couldn't stop comparing everything they did to Hannah. They didn't walk right. Their hair wasn't as nice. Their smile wasn't as genuine. Then I met Claudia. And it was more like, wow, I love how Claudia looks at me when I'm talking, or I like the way she'll seek my eyes out in the Royal Assembly. It was so strange. It was like... Hannah didn't even matter to me anymore. I know what I do is called magic, but I've got nothing on love, I'll tell you that much. If mages could harness that power... well let's just say we would have never needed to raid heaven," Connor said wistfully.

Gildre leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking from the stress of the unusual position it was put in. Gildre put his hands behind his head and sighed closing his eyes.

"But I love Jasper. I know I do. This feeling, it has to be love," Gildre said anguished.

Connor stood and tossed his apple core up into the air. He zapped it with a bolt of energy and the small cabin suddenly smelled like an apple orchard after a hard rain. He turned to the hammocks and hoisted himself into one. He put his own arms behind his head and closed his eyes, letting the swaying motion of the hammock rock him gently.

"You know, I don't think love should be so hard, do you? I mean, I know you have to work at it somewhat, but having to force yourself to do something, that doesn't quite sound like love to me somehow," Connor said.

"Gildre... have you ever thought," Connor said sleepily, "that you are Jasper's Alistair?"

Gildre opened his eyes and leaned forward, the two front legs of his wooden chair clunking into the deck with a dull thud. He turned to look at Connor, but Connor's breathing was slow and even. He had quickly fallen asleep in the swaying hammock. Gildre stood and went up to the decks above. He looked up to see Jasper chanting near the sails, and he walked up to the railing looking out at the sea.

Connor was right. Gildre hadn't had lustful feelings for Alistair since the incident with the Grand Cleric. It had helped his relationship with Lyssa and Alistair immensely. Things were less tense between them and he felt happier and freer than he had in a long time. That was about the same time he started seeing Jasper.

Gildre looked down at the sea to distract himself and saw a huge hump rise. A spray of misty water plumed out of the spout of a huge sea creature just beneath the waves. A large fan tail rose several feet above the water and then splashed back into the ocean. The outline of the huge beast slowly dwindled until it vanished far beneath them. Gildre grinned at his luck in glimpsing the thing, despite himself. He looked around to see if anyone else had been watching. He found himself wishing Lyssa had been there with him to see it. She always took such wonder at these types of things.

Gildre suddenly felt an undeniable urge to check on Lyssa. His guilt over telling Alistair Lyssa's secret had suddenly returned. Lyssa had always confided in Gildre about such things, certain of his confidence, and he had betrayed her trust. Despite some misgivings, Gildre went to the captain's cabin and knocked quietly on the door. No one answered. Gildre paused for just a moment, then opened the door. He peeked in and saw Alistair leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, with Lyssa curled up in the crook of his arm. He stepped as quietly as he could over the creaking boards and knelt by the bed. He reached out and touched Lyssa's cheek softly with his fingertips.

He smiled and leaned in close to her ear, his whispering voice the soft sound that only an elf could make.

"I saw one of those whales you talk about, Lyssa. I wish you had seen it. Get better dear friend. I am sorry I betrayed you. Please forgive me. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you no longer felt you could trust me after this," Gildre whispered.

Gildre leaned down and kissed Lyssa lightly on the forehead, silently saying a prayer to Mythal as he did so. He stood up and tiptoed back out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Alistair opened his eyes and looked at the door Gildre had left through, a strange expression on his face. He looked down at Lyssa's sleeping face and gently brushed some of her soft hair behind her ear. He looked back at the door and pursed his lips.

"Huh," he said slumping down into the bed to get a little more comfortable, "Why," Alistair began as he snuggled in closer to Lyssa, "can you tell him these things, and not me? What are you so afraid of revealing to me?"

Alistair rested his chin against Lyssa's head and buried his nose in her hair. He rubbed his thumb against her skin in slow circles as he thought. Eventually, his eyes closed and he fell into a light sleep.

**

The boat sailed into the Seheron port without being stopped. They had slowed to be greeted by the captain of one of the huge warships of the Q'unari, but they were waved through when Sten appeared at the prow. They were directed to one of the smaller docks by an older elf.

Lyssa had slept through the whole trip, only waking as Sten's ship rubbed up against the wood of the dock. She raised her head drowsily as she peered out the porthole in the captain's cabin. She quickly realized she must have slept a long time.

"That was a dirty trick," she said grumpily wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Alistair still had his arms around Lyssa and tightened his grip on her as she stirred. He held her head against his chest as he spoke. Lyssa could feel his rumbling voice vibrate through her cheek.

"I am sorry. But you had to sleep. You didn't... dream of anything I take it?" Alistair asked stroking her hair. He was worried she might get truly angry with him about the deception. Using magic on her unsuspectingly was wrong and he knew it, but he didn't want her to leave the room angry.

"No, I slept well," Lyssa said touching Alistair's bare chest. Lyssa could not be angry at Alistair. He was right. She could not continue much longer sleeping for an hour at a time trying to avoid the dreams. And he had managed to help her get over her fear of dreaming. She had slept peacefully and no longer feared that Urthemiel would snag her the moment she fell into too deep a slumber.

Duncan had been right, she did not dream of Urthemiel. Lyssa felt a little stronger knowing she had faced her fear, unwillingly or not. She sat up a little and put her hands on either side of Alistair's face. She kissed him, parting his lips with hers and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Lyssa felt Alistair grow excited against her, and she felt her own feelings stir as the sounds of the boat being tied up echoed through the hull of the ship. Alistair let his hands slide down Lyssa's back and under her loincloth. He let his hands cup her backside as she straddled him. Her movement made his breath catch and he pulled his face back from the kiss a little to look down at her.

"I would like nothing better than to make up to each other right now... but that little porthole there," Alistair said nodding to the small hole in the wall near the docks, "Well, I'm not really interested in sharing any of this moment with whoever happens to be passing by on the docks."

"Mood killer," Lyssa said touching the tip of her nose to his and pouting.

Alistair chuckled, "You can trust me on this one, my mood isn't going to change one bit," Alistair said as he nudged himself against Lyssa making her take in her breath. He leaned forward and kissed her neck as he spoke. His warm breath traveled around under Lyssa's hair, tickling the nape of her neck and causing her flesh to break out in goosebumps. "And I have every intention of checking into the nearest inn and making up to you until tomorrow morning. You've had a nice long nap now, so I think you can keep up with me."

"If you are sure," Lyssa said reaching down between them and curling her fingers around him.

"Cheating," Alistair said flipping Lyssa over and pushing her hands above her head, "will not work, you minx."

He leaned down and kissed Lyssa while still holding her hands.

"I do not need my hands to cheat," Lyssa said wrapping her legs around Alistair's waist and pulling his hips towards hers.

She pressed her pelvis into his and felt his member tug against his loincloth trying to free itself.

"You are so wicked," he said giving her nipple a little nibble through the cloth of her underclothes.

Lyssa yelped a little as Alistair continued to nibble her in different places, tickling her ribs and the underside of her elbow. She wriggled out of his grasp and they wrestled trying to tickle each other for a while before a knock came at the door.

Laughing and out of breath, Alistair grabbed up his trousers and pulled them on as Lyssa tossed a pillow at him.

"Just a moment," Alistair called out as he picked up the pillow and tossed it back at Lyssa.

Lyssa leaned off the bed and snatched up her tunic pulling it on. She found a crate with her things in it and opened it. She took out the old leather armor she had worn so infrequently for the last eighteen years. She pulled the top on over her tunic and strapped it down. It felt as comfortable as she remembered. She picked up the flexible skirt of mail and slid into it, belting it around her waist.

She turned toward Alistair who had been watching her get dressed. He had a grin on his face and was clearly still very excited.

"Going out like that are you?" Lyssa said gesturing to Alistair's groin.

"As much as I enjoy seeing that on again, I can't wait to take it off of you," Alistair said huskily.

Lyssa sat down on the bed laughing as she pulled on her boots. "I see dressing isn't your number one priority. So you intend to let everyone know what is on your mind then? Or are you going to put on some of that plate mail to cover up your... enthusiasm?"

"I suppose I had better. Don't want to frighten any children," Alistair said pulling some of his own armor out of a crate.

Lyssa tied her hair up while Alistair finished getting dressed. She turned to go out the door when Alistair grabbed her hand.

"From now on, when something is worrying you, you'll tell me, right?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Lyssa said solemnly.

"If it is the calling," Alistair said pulling Lyssa towards him and touching her face, "then we deal with it together."

Lyssa nodded.

**

The sun was shining brightly in Seheron. Lyssa and Alistair helped everyone load their cargo onto two great wagons near the docks. The Arishok had cleared an old Q'unari barracks for use as a Ferelden Embassy and Lyssa had gone on ahead to investigate it.

Alistair was putting the last crate up onto the wagon when the Arishok approached. Alistair brushed off his hands and reached out to greet the Arishok in a friendly manner.

"Greetings Arishok," Alistair said.

"And to you, your majesty," Arishok said taking Alistair's hand.

"Not anymore. My son has that title now. I come here as an ambassador and Grey Warden only," Alistair said turning as the two Q'unari Grey Wardens came forward.

Arishok raised his eyebrow. The two Q'unari warriors did not bow to him as Sten had. Alistair remembered what Sten had told him and spoke up quickly.

"Grey Wardens hold no allegiance to Kings, Arishoks, or any leaders really. Though many of us still bow out of respect," Alistair looked back at the two Q'unari pointedly, "But uh," Alistair laughed a little nervously, "It seems you Q'unari take these things quite literally."

Arishok turned his gaze toward Alistair, "Yes. We do not show subservience to those who are not our commanders. It is correct that they do not bow if this is your way. What are their titles?"

"Oh... yes well, since they are no longer part of the Q'unari army, we gave them names. It seemed easier that way. We have commanders in the Grey Wardens, but everyone else is just... a Grey Warden. We thought it would be confusing to call them both Grey, and if we recruited any more Q'unari, we'd have to call them all Grey, wouldn't we. We'd never be able to tell them apart. It would be like calling every knight, Knight," Alistair chuckled.

The Arishok just stared at him. Alistair's smile fell.

"Oh... well I guess that is what you do. Well, we... have a different way I suppose. Their fellow Grey Wardens chose names for them after they had been together for a while. They tried to pick... descriptive names. I don't want you to take any offense at this, but some of the Grey Wardens have an odd sense of humor. Anyway, this one here," Alistair said patting the larger of the two Q'unari on the arm, "Is Dread. His fellow Grey Wardens thought that would suit him well. They say he strikes dread into the darkspawn merely by showing up on the battlefield."

Arishok stepped forward and looked Dread in the eye. Dread was a couple inches taller than the Arishok, so Arishok had to look up a little.

"A good name. Honorable," Arishok said.

Dread nodded to the Arishok.

"Excellent," Alistair said happily, "And this fellow over here, his name is... er... Bigfoot."

Alistair grimaced as he waited for the Arishok to ask why the Q'unari had been named so.

"His feet, they are not that big," Arishok said looking down at Bigfoot's feet.

"Erm... no. But, you wouldn't know it from hearing him stomp around the place. He's not very stealthy. It was kind of a joke really, but the name stuck," Alistair said rubbing his neck.

Arishok looked into Bigfoot's eyes, "This is not so honorable."

Alistair swore he heard Bigfoot sigh.

"No," Bigfoot said with a small frown.

"How will you bring honor to this name?" Arishok asked.

"I will stomp on the heads of my enemies. Then my name will have honor," Bigfoot said.

Arishok stared at Bigfoot for a moment, then smiled a little. "Yes. This will do."

Bigfoot nodded and Arishok turned toward Alistair.

"I have made a decision," Arishok said.

"So... your decision...?" Alistair asked.

Arishok stared at Alistair, a scowl on his face.

Sten approached Alistair and bowed again, "We are grateful for this decision."

Sten pulled Alistair away from the Arishok and toward the wagons which were now being pulled toward the old barracks.

"What decision by the way? You didn't let him answer. All he said was 'I've made a decision.' What decision? That we shall have tea and cakes? That we should go for a walk in the park? That he likes cheese? We can't send a message back to the King of Ferelden that says 'He's made a decision'. It could be misinterpreted," Alistair said as Sten pulled him along.

"I know I have told you to listen when the Arishok speaks," Sten said.

"Yes, but he didn't complete his thought," Alistair said persistently.

"Humans and their language," Sten muttered.

Lyssa trotted up to them. She had come from the run down barracks and was covered in dust and grime. It reminded Alistair of the first time he met her, and he smiled.

"So, are the Grey Wardens to find a new home in Seheron?" Lyssa asked as she used a heavy piece of canvas to knock some of the cobwebs off of her armor.

"I don't know," Alistair said yanking his arm from Sten's grasp and rubbing it gingerly, "Sten pulled me away before I could ask."

Lyssa laughed, "You were talking his ear off, weren't you? I warned you about that. Q'unari don't like having to explain themselves."

Lyssa turned to Sten and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"He is allowing the Grey Wardens to recruit here. He was quite clear," Sten said glowering down at Alistair.

"Look, I know you're people are... terse to say the least, but don't you ever misread each other? I mean, you don't exactly use a lot of body language either. I'm not even certain if he was pleased or unhappy about the names the Wardens chose for Dread and Bigfoot,'" Alistair said.

"What's this now?" Lyssa asked confused.

Alistair turned to speak to Lyssa when Sten interrupted him, "If Arishok did not approve of the names you had given the Q'unari, he would have challenged you for incompetence as a commander for allowing such a thing."

"I can be challenged over the names of the Grey Wardens under my command. Maker have mercy, don't let Percy tell the Arishok his nickname," Alistair said to Lyssa.

"I don't think you have to worry about that, Percy never tells anyone his nickname if he can help it," Lyssa said. "We're going to be here a while. You'll have to remember the rule of Q'unari military. Unless your actions are challenged, the Q'unari approve of them. If you are challenged, just make sure to win the fight. By bringing the Q'unari Grey Wardens with us, we were essentially saying, 'We have done this thing, is it okay?' If the Arishok did not challenge Bigfoot or Dread, then he approves of what they have decided to do. If he did not challenge you, the new commander of Bigfoot and Dread, then he says it is okay for you to be here, and you are honorable enough to retain your command here on Q'unari soil."

Sten smiled down at Lyssa and slapped her on the back. Lyssa winced a little.

"And that is why you became kadan first," Sten said. He turned and gave a meaningful glance to Alistair whose mouth was open in mock shock.

"That hurts you know," Alistair said putting his hand over his heart and patting his chest, "right here. And I was about to carve 'Sten and Alistair Forever' into the walls of the barracks. See if that happens now you ruddy giant."

Lyssa laughed and started walking toward the barracks again as she spoke. "Thank you, Sten. I know it was your counsel that helped this along."

"Do not thank me. Arishok will still try to convert Ferelden to the Qun," Sten said.

"Personally, I could care less about what religion the people of Ferelden decide to adopt. As long as they don't try to kill me in the process. At least now Arishok is trying a new tactic. For the moment, it seems invasion is off the table and influence is the Q'unari weapon of choice," Lyssa said.

"Yes... well I think the Arishok might have the wrong impression. He just thinks the Grey Wardens have all this influential power. The people of Ferelden may act like they all love us now. We've just defeated a Blight. But before you know it they'll be back ignoring us and it will be like the old days when people cared more about the griffons in the stories than the people who rode them," Alistair said grumpily.


	6. Chapter 6 : A God Reforged

_**Chapter 6: A God Reforged**_

_Seventy-five years before the Divine Age_

Peithos lie in the bed, propped up on one elbow, looking down at Andraste's sleeping form. She was stretched out languorously next to him, facing away.

Ah, Peitho thought, your beauty is incomparable. He trailed his fingers down along her spine, his fingertips sighing along the soft skin. I have pursued you for years, he mused, letting his fingers drift across her exposed hip. And now you are mine, finally and completely.

She turned towards him slowly, her eyes fluttering open. She smiled up at him.

"Maker, have I pleased you?" she asked breathily.

"Yes, my heart. You have pleased me very much. I did not mean to wake you. I was simply looking upon you, and I had to touch you again," Peitho said.

Andraste smiled serenely. "I hope it was worth the wait."

"Oh yes, my Andraste, it was worth every minute," Peitho leaned down to kiss her; a small, light kiss.

Andraste pulled away slowly, just a little, from Peitho. "I was a fool, my Maker. I was mad to hesitate for so long. But I am yours now—now and forevermore. Completely."

Peitho's fingers had been tracing small circles along her stomach. Now he trailed them up and across her breast finally bringing his hand to rest over her heart. "As it ever was meant to be, and shall be, my mighty warrior of light." He lifted his other hand to cup her chin, leaning in. This time he kissed her long and carefully, letting his senses sing out with the pleasure of his flesh, exploring the sensation of every minute fiber of his being. It had been so long ago, before Andraste, that he had felt this. He had not thought himself capable of feeling such intense desire and joy any more.

He pulled away reluctantly, his face turning serious.

"As much as I'd like to lie here all day and glutinously indulge my ravenous desire for you, I have much to do yet," Peitho said. sitting up.

Andraste felt instantly cold, the small pool of warmth where he been lying beside her rapidly cooling. She had noted how her Maker's tone had changed, and it troubled her.

"You speak of the evil you seek to defeat, do you not? Is there nothing I can do to help?" She crawled across the bed after Peitho. "Now that I have seen the error of my ways, I will do everything within my power to help you." Andraste dangled her pale legs off the bed, sitting next to Peitho. She wrapped herself into a tight hug around him. "I can tell the people, make them understand…"

"Yes. Perhaps you can at that," Peitho turned into Andraste's embrace. He put one hand gently on her cheek, petting it affectionately with his thumb. "And I can give you a power that will help you on this mission."

Andraste felt her mind slip into a haze as words filtered in, words that were Peitho's, never uttered. They appeared in her head and rung out with his clear voice, and they were made from pure power. The energy, it was light and sound and pleasure and peace all at once, spread throughout her. She felt uplifted by the words, and comforted, and energized by them as well. Until just then she hadn't realized that she was crying out, because she couldn't hear anything over the chant. She wanted to wrest control of her voice, to scream to the world that there was nothing she would not do for her Maker. Then Peitho's soft voice caught her attention, this time the words coming from his lips she could see. Still the words of the chant continued in her mind, making it seem that two Peithos were speaking to her at once.

"When spoken, this chant will bring followers to you. They will understand our mission, they will know the truth of it. Speak these words to any who will listen. In time, we will have an army of followers. When that time comes, we will bring this righteous force against those who worship and spread evil, that none shall be able to stand in our path," Peitho said. His whisper in Andraste's ear was soft and caring. He stopped speaking. The chant continued.

"Yes, my love," Andraste said. Peitho continued to push the words into her mind. "It shall be done as you command."

**

_The day after Duncan's coronation_

It was late. The stars filtered through clouds that breezed through the skies over Seheron. The moon was not yet visible above the edge of the barracks, but its light filled the sky with a misty glow. Gildre heard Lyssa swinging her blades and breathing heavily in the rundown training area. He watched her for a while, from behind some straw dummies that had long ago lost most of their stuffing.

Lyssa moved like a cat, graceful but with deadly accuracy. Her blades cut through the air with such speed—as they passed through the invisible currents Gildre's sensitive ears could make out a high pitched whistle. Lyssa swung around, thrusting, swinging, dodging. Gildre imagined Mithra herself would look something like this in a fight.

So far he had remained unnoticed; his soft footsteps were undetectable to most. At least that was what he thought.

After Lyssa finally sheathed her blades she made an exaggerated show of putting her hand over her eyes and squinting in his direction, as if a sailor looking for shore. "Oh there you are." She dropped her hand and took a few steps in his direction. She was smiling, he could see, now that she was turned so the growing moonlight could splash across her profile. "Did you want something, Gildre?" Lyssa folded her legs, nimbly collapsing to the ground and smoothly rolling herself out onto it. She had her fingers crossed behind her head, pillowing it, while she looked up. A few thin, translucent clouds slid across the sky, skimming across the backdrop of bright stars.

Gildre stepped out from behind the row of training dummies into the training circle. He dropped down next to Lyssa. He stared at the sky for a little while before he spoke.

"I'm sorry." Gildre finally started. "You know I only did it because I was worried about you. If I hadn't felt your life was in danger, I never would have told him," Gildre said emphatically.

"I know. It was wrong of me to keep it from him in any case. I can see that now, but I let my fear get the better of me. I don't plan on letting that happen again." Lyssa groped beside her in the dark, still looking at the sky, stopping when she felt Gildre's hand.

The touch made Gildre smile. He didn't hesitate, immediately entwining his fingers with hers. He turned his gaze from the sky to Lyssa to find her smiling back.

Gildre waited a moment before saying anything, simply enjoying holding Lyssa's hand. She had turned back to the sky. "The dreams of darkspawn... are they really that bad?" he asked.

She didn't answer immediately, then started to say "No," turning a little towards him. She saw his incredulous expression clearly in the moon's bright gleam. "Well, okay. They are awful, don't doubt that. But they're not unbearable… and I don't think I'll lose any more sleep over them, if that's what you feared." Lyssa said.

Gildre watched Lyssa. He could tell that she wasn't sharing everything she was thinking, and that she was preoccupied with something distressing. He had known her too long, too intimately, for her to hide that from him. But he didn't want to press her. He couldn't; not so soon after having to betray her trust. After a long pause, he finally just said, "I don't... understand."

Lyssa stared up at the stars for a while. The moon had begun to slowly crest the roof of the barracks.

"Have you ever heard the stories of the Old Gods, Gildre?" Lyssa asked quietly.

"Yes, some. I know more of the Pantheon, but I enjoy all such lore and myth, even if I don't really believe in them. The seven Old Gods were once worshiped by the people of Thedas. The Maker cast them down as false Gods. It is said they are the dragons the darkspawn find and corrupt," Gildre said.

"Yes, that is the story. Duncan once told me a story of the Old Gods that had been lost for many years. He has been studying some ancient scrolls. Some were so delicate, you couldn't touch them with your hand, or they would just disintegrate into dust. One tale he found and shared with me was particularly interesting. Would you like to hear it?" Lyssa asked.

Gildre smiled, "I already told you I like those old tales, so quit teasing me and out with it."

"Okay then. I'm no bard, but I'll give this a try. Long ago, there were many gods that lived on Thedas. The world was full of them. They lived among the people and were a common sight. They never became ill, they never grew old, and they never died. They did not call themselves gods then. They called themselves immortals. To them, that was the main difference between the people they lived among and themselves. They had powers, but they knew in time the mortals they walked among might also be able to gain these powers as well. They knew the only reason the mortals didn't command the power and immortality they did was because they didn't have the knowledge and spiritual fortitude to tap into the power all around them. After a time, although the story doesn't speak to why, the immortals became aware of a place called Plenarius; a perfect realm where evil didn't exist," Lyssa said wistfully.

"That sounds like a nice place to stumble upon one day," Gildre said tilting his head to look at Lyssa. Lyssa turned to him and smiled.

"Yes. It does doesn't it? But they didn't know how to get there. The immortals knew that it existed because some denizen of Plenarius had reached through the energies that separated the worlds and made them aware of it. The immortals strove to reach back through the barriers, but they could not, nor could they touch the mind of the being that had called them. The creature eventually realized the immortals could not find a way through to Plenarius. It then created guides to help them pass the barriers between this realm and Plenarius. The immortals called the guides the warriors of light. The warriors wore the flesh of mortals, but were actually beings of pure light. When a warrior of light died, the light was freed from the flesh and sought out the souls of the immortals in the fade. When the immortals discovered the warriors of the light, they knew they had been sent by the being from Plenarius. Once they realized that the warriors of light allowed them to bridge the gap to Plenarius, most of the immortals left. They yearned to find some place untouched by evil. But a few immortals, eight to be precise, stayed behind.

"These eight immortals became the Gods of old. They had stayed because they felt the mortals might, in time, also be led into the realm of Plenarius. They believed that was why the being from that realm made the warriors of light mortal, as a message to them. That perhaps it expected them to reach down and elevate the mortals in the same way it had assisted them. So they stayed," Lyssa said.

"Eight? But all the Tevinter stories talk of seven," Gildre said intrigued.

"Wait, this gets better. So, the Old Gods began teaching the mortals their ways. First they taught them simple things. Mortals suddenly thrived, learning how to master the planet they inhabited. Soon massive cities rose up dotted with temples devoted to the Old Gods. Then, the immortals began to teach their followers magic. The Old Gods believed that the only thing that was holding the mortals back from ascending to Plenarius was a small touch of evil they were tainted with. They hoped that if the mortals began to master magic, then they might be able to cleanse themselves of the trace of evil within them.

"But the mortals did not use the magic they had been taught to rid themselves of darkness. Instead, they used the magic to try to enslave the old gods, and to try to force their way into Plenarius. Most of the eight felt this was perhaps proof that the mortals could not be helped. But one of the Old Gods became obsessed with trying to rid the world of the darkness. His name has been lost over the years, but he began delving deep into the earth, seeking out the purest darkness, the most complete evil that existed hoping that he might find a way to destroy it completely. It is said that this old god strayed too close to the evil, and that it reached out and ensnared him.

"His brethren were disturbed by his change in demeanor, and confronted him about it. The corrupted god wished to scour the earth of all mortals save only the warriors of light. He became convinced that the warriors were the only beings worthy of living. When his brothers and sisters confronted him, demanding he cease his campaign against the mortals, he became enraged and stormed from their presence. Then, one by one, the Old Gods began to disappear. And then the first Blight came. With no old gods to answer their prayers, the people turned to the only deity that was left to intercede." Lyssa paused, and turned to look directly at Gildre. "A god who called himself Maker," Lyssa said dramatically.

"You're having me on!" Gildre laughed. "You're saying this corrupted old god is actually the Maker? How precious is that?"

"I thought you'd like that. But the tale is there. I saw the old stone where much of it was written myself. Strange how these stories change over time," Lyssa said.

Gildre thought for a moment. "So, does that mean that what Morrigan did for you, diverting the archdemon into her… does that mean she might actually have given birth to one of these... old gods?"

Lyssa was quiet for a while before she spoke again. "Gildre, I'm going to tell you something important. I know you'll keep this between us. But... if something were to happen to me, someone needs to know. It just can't be Alistair."

"What... is it?" Gildre asked uneasily.

"The dream I had; it wasn't the darkspawn. It was Morrigan's child." Gildre started to say something, but Lyssa continued. "He came after me. He pulled me into the fade..." Lyssa trailed off.

Gildre grabbed Lyssa's hand and placed it against his chest. "Lyssa," was all he said.

"Duncan pulled me out. He can do that, apparently. I don't know how, but he can. But I'm telling you now, if it ever happens again, you need to find Duncan. Only he can help. No mage can help me. It has to be Duncan. Understand?" Lyssa asked.

"Yes," Gildre said.

Lyssa smiled at him. She rolled forward on to her feet and stood up. She looked back up at the stars briefly before helping Gildre stand.

"I should go. Alistair should be done with his bath by now, and I aim to get one myself. This place is dustier than a dwarven mine," Lyssa said.

Gildre waved her on. "Yes, you won't want to miss the bath. They have hot springs here. The water comes out piping. I don't think I'll ever want to leave this place."

"Yes, I've heard there's nothing like them anywhere! Well, goodnight Gildre," Lyssa said as she left.

Gildre watched Lyssa head into the barracks. He said, so softly that only he could hear it, "This time I will keep our confidence, I promise."

**

Lyssa sat in the steaming bathtub. It was huge. It had to be to accommodate Q'unari. The water was indeed piping hot, just as Gildre had promised. Lyssa let herself sink beneath the water, letting the bubbles from her nose slowly leak out to snake their way up her forehead, escaping into the air above. She stayed under for a full minute, letting her whole body relax.

She came up out of the water, and she shrieked. Alistair loomed over the tub. As soon as she realized it was him, Lyssa relaxed. She splashed a huge gout of water at him. He tried to dodge, laughing, and slipped off the tub to land hard on the floor. "Ow," he said, and then started laughing again, this time hysterically.

"You are awful, you know that," Lyssa said.

"And you scream like a little girl," Alistair said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Oh, you just wait, I'll get you back. You think you're the wiliest prankster in Ferelden, but you sir, are no rogue. There's no end to the diabolical acts I'll visit upon you for this," Lyssa said smirking.

"I don't care if my backside is sore for a week," Alistair said, getting himself up from the floor and rubbing his rump. He shuffled over to the tub on his knees. "Or if I wake up with six dozen toads in my bed. That yelp was worth every slimy one," Alistair said.

Lyssa reached out of the tub and grabbed Alistair by the tunic. She yanked and pulled him in, clothes and all. Water splashed everywhere. They slid around the over-sized tub crazily until the sloshing motion of the water ceased. Alistair floated over, pulling himself on to Lyssa, and kissed her.

"Well, since I'm already in here, I suppose it's too late to ask if I can join you," he said. His hand slid along her chest, then disappeared below the water while he kept kissing Lyssa's neck.

Lyssa peeled off Alistair's wet tunic and tossed it on the floor. It landed with a plop. She pressed her wet skin against his and contorted wildly to get hold of his trousers with her feet. She started to tug at them. Alistair quickly moved to help her. Once they slipped off, he pressed her against the huge sloping back of the tub.

"Now, I think I mentioned earlier how much I needed forgiving for my magical transgressions. But, I think perhaps you should make it up to me, first, since it was your own secret that started this whole mess," Alistair said teasing. He took full advantage of the slick nature of his fingers in the lightly oiled, scented bath.

He deftly massaged Lyssa while he continued to kiss her neck, slowly moving from one side to the other. Lyssa pressed herself against him, encouraging him to go deeper inside of her. She gasped as he found the spot he had been looking for. He slowed down and she clawed his back in frustration. She was almost there, and he knew it. He pulled his hand away and kissed her.

"Not yet," he said.

Lyssa pushed him forcefully against the slope of the tub and swung one of her legs over him. She hovered above him, her loins just above his quivering tip. Lyssa shook her finger at Alistair as he thrust his hips upward and she lifted herself away at the last moment.

"Two can play at that game," Lyssa said as she slid lower in the tub.

She took him into her mouth. Alistair grasped the sides of the tub. He groaned in pleasure as Lyssa slowly rose and fell, her fingers reaching around and squeezing the back of his thighs, lifting his hips out of the water. After several minutes, she felt his muscles tense. Alistair lifted her head up gently. His other hand grabbed an elbow and he lifted her up in one fluid motion to rest on top of him.

"I said not yet," Alistair said. He repositioned his hands and then lifted her partway out of the water. He kissed Lyssa's breasts, and then lowered her gently onto him.

He pressed himself into her, feeling the warm water swirl around him as he moved. The water in the tub sloshed out in great gouts as Alistair and Lyssa slid against each other's slick skin. Alistair leaned into Lyssa and rolled her over, leaning her against the wall of the tub and stretching his feet out to brace against the other end of the tub. He used his leverage to push himself deeply into Lyssa. She shuddered with a tremor of delight.

By the time they were getting close to finishing, most of the water had splashed out onto the stone floor around the tub. The steam in the room continued to keep their skin wet and slick. Lyssa, having come so close to finishing before, felt the pleasure mounting almost unbearably. As Alistair pushed into her the last few times, his groans of bliss coincided with Lyssa's own. She felt something burst within her as Alistair cried out. He squeezed her to him, feeling her contract and release. As he pulled from her, a final jolt of sensation caused him to jerk a little from over stimulation. He sighed contentedly as he slumped against the side of the bathtub, spent.

"You are... forgiven," he said panting a little.

"Oh, we're not done yet. I think you have an apology or two still left in you," Lyssa said as she ran her hands down Alistair's muscular stomach.

He laughed, and then they were kissing again.


	7. Chapter 7 : A Dangerous Distraction

_**Chapter 7: A Dangerous Distraction**_

_Eighteen months after Duncan's coronation_

Duncan sat in his study looking over some letters. He was trying to concentrate on a particular letter from his parents when a knock came at the door. Wynne, who had been lying at his feet, suddenly roused herself and looked at the door, her head cocked sideways a bit. A moment later, the door creaked open and a young elf woman entered. Wynne gave one short sharp happy bark of recognition, then settled herself back down at foot of Duncan's chair. The elf had short dark hair that brushed her shoulders and dusky gray eyes. She wore Tevinter mage robes of a deep green color. The color set off her pale skin. She had the small features that typically were associated with elves.

"Your majesty, I hope I am not bothering you, but... I was wondering if you needed me to translate anything more at this time," the elf mage said. Her voice was soft and lilting. Duncan had to struggle to keep his attention elsewhere as his eyes lingered on her delicate gesturing hands.

He straightened his tunic and shook his head. "No thank you, Naeti. You have done enough for me this evening."

Naeti smiled and bowed slightly before she turned to go. As she closed the door she let her eyes linger on Duncan's for a few seconds. Duncan shook his head trying to clear away a fuzzy feeling. He looked back down at the letter from his parents.

Things had been going well during the last eighteen months Alistair and Lyssa had been in Seheron. They now had seven Grey Wardens in the Seheron sanctuary. Four were Q'unari and three were elves. Duncan frowned at the letter. There was very little personal news in it. He found himself wondering why he cared all of the sudden. He shook his head again, trying to push the emotion away.

He stood and walked over to the fireplace in his study. He sat in front of it, allowing his body to warm. His bones ached from the stress he was under. Another knock came at the door.

"Come in," he said.

Wynne jumped up and scrabbled across the stone floor, her huge Mabari claws scratching wildly against the surface in her rush to get to the door.

Teagan barely had time to enter the room and close the door before Wynne was at his side, insistently shoving her muzzle against his hand.

"Hello girl," Teagan said, taking a moment to firmly scratch her behind the ears. Duncan noted how Teagan's hair was now more gray than red. His small goatee was speckled with white strands. The wrinkles around his eyes branched out from years of laughter. Though of late, Teagan had not had as much to laugh about. Duncan was not like his father. Teagan knew Duncan was preoccupied with some task, but he hadn't shared any details with Teagan. And the friendly chats in the courtyard just weren't the same with Duncan. Teagan found it difficult to relate to the young man, particularly since he often seemed so emotionless about everything around him.

Teagan gave Wynne one last pat before be straightened and bowed slightly. Duncan gestured for him to take a nearby seat in front of the fire. Wynne trotted after him. As soon as Teagan sat, she plopped down next to him; her large head drooped in his lap, her eyes watching him intently. Teagan stroked her under the chin.

"What brings you here at this hour, Teagan?" Duncan asked. He was staring into the flames.

Teagan steepled his hands and mentally prepared himself for what he needed to say. "Duncan, I know you have heard this before, but you must take a wife. The nobles are growing restless. They know you have little time left. As it is, a regent will have to rule for some time until an heir of the Theirin line will be old enough to assume the crown. The longer you take to find a bride, the longer a regent will be needed to rule. The nobles strongly believe...,"

"I will chose one. Give me more time," Duncan said curtly, his eyes closed.

"If... it is a matter of not being interested in women," Teagan began.

Duncan sighed. "That is not the problem, I assure you. I have been taking the elf mage, Naeti to my chambers for some time now. Surely that has quelled that particular rumor."

"But that's just it. The way you say it. People think it's just a calculated move on your part. You've not been particularly subtle with this... dalliance. Usually a king would not be seen so casually taking an elf, and a mage at that, into his bed. It isn't that the people have anything against her, but... it just seems odd," Teagan said carefully.

"Yes. I can see that now. Teagan... I am very close to finding... my wife. If you can push back the nobles two more months, I can promise you, the mother of the future heir of Ferelden will be chosen," Duncan said.

"Two months?" Teagan asked surprised. No matter how often he spoke to Duncan, he always found it astonishing how precise the young man was. Everything was said with such certainty and assurance. For the last year and a half, it almost seemed as if Duncan was just biding his time as King, waiting for something else.

Since Duncan had taken the crown, he had made no remarkable decisions. He spent most of his time sending Grey Wardens off on missions. Teagan didn't know what these missions entailed, and when he once tried to ask a Grey Warden about it, the man had gotten very cagey.

"Yes. I swear it Teagan," Duncan said. "Two months. Now if you'll excuse me, I am feeling very weary at the moment. I think I shall retire to my bedchamber," Duncan said standing.

Teagan stood. Wynne trotted from him to her master's side. Teagan bowed. "Yes your majesty."

Duncan left the room and headed up to his chambers. He stopped on the stairs briefly and clutched at his head.

"I better be ready in two months," Duncan said to Wynne. "I don't have much longer than that."

Wynne whined.

He started back up the stairs, Wynne followed, stopping to snuffle up the occasional near invisible speck of interesting dust. Duncan stopped just outside his room. He could sense the elf mage, Naeti inside waiting for him. First Enchanter Irving had introduced them, telling Duncan that Naeti was a particularly adept mage. She hailed from Tevinter, but had moved to Ferelden when she was fifteen. She claimed it was because she was unsatisfied with the way the Tevinter mages were taught. She spent the rest of her years in the Circle Tower in Ferelden. Teagan decided after interviewing her that she would be a fine candidate for the position of castle mage.

Duncan was pleased because Naeti had studied ancient languages. She was able to translate many scrolls that Duncan himself didn't have time for. Duncan was fast running out of time to find his brother. He had been researching the ancient dwarven records for some time now. Without even realizing it, Naeti had been assisting Duncan with the hunt. With her aid, he'd finally been able to deduce Urthemiel's general location.

Naeti was also useful to Duncan in another capacity. He had gotten the idea a year ago when he became aware of Naeti's interest in him. Her eyes lingered a few seconds longer than most, her hands purposefully brushed his when handing him parchment. It seemed a perfect solution to the persistent rumors that Duncan would be happier with a steward like Gildre than with any woman. Duncan felt he needed to stall the nobles from their incessant requests that he find a bride. He found that Naeti was willing to come to his chambers, even if he did not share his bed with her. She was willing to contribute to Duncan's deception she had said, if she could remain by his side.

The unfortunate side effect for Duncan is that she also made his emotions surge for some reason. He couldn't quite understand it. She was attractive enough, but he had been around plenty of attractive women before and never had these feelings before. When he was around Naeti though, he found it difficult to restrain that side of himself.

Duncan stared at the wooden door of the royal bedchamber and steadied himself. He looked to Wynne. "Sorry girl, but I think you should head back to the kennel." Wynne looked at him and let out a low whimper. She slowly lowered herself, bowing her head down first, in front of his door, obstinately. "I told the Kennel Master if you showed up he was allowed to give you one extra portion of food…" Duncan began. Wynne darted off before he could finish. He turned back to the door. After a moment he entered to find Naeti sitting on the bed.

Duncan turned to her and spoke without emotion. "I am sorry Naeti, but the need for this ruse is no longer. I have been honest with you up to this point, and I have found you to be... an useful distraction for a time. But it is time we go back to business as usual."

Naeti stood. She slowly walked up to Duncan and put her cool hand on his face, "Are you sure, there are other things I could..." Naeti began.

"No. I am sorry, but I need my rest," Duncan said tersely.

"If you say so my lord. If you change your mind, you know where to find me," Naeti said. She picked up her staff and headed out the door.

Duncan did not watch her leave, instead he lie back on the bed and rested. He stared up at the ceiling and let his mind go into the fade. As he appeared there, he looked around the misty surroundings. He let himself drift further in so he could sense what he was searching for more easily. Duncan thought of his mother and father. He found the connection easily, as he always could, and let his mind follow the connection out of the fade into Seheron. He could sense they were happy, at peace. He withdrew his mind and rolled over. He let himself drift into sleep.

**

The morning brought news from a small contingent of Grey Wardens. Duncan had sent out several small groups like this to begin wearing down the darkspawn forces that lie between him and his goal: a long lost thaig whose entrance was near Highever. When the entrance had been discovered more than a year ago, it had been Duncan's first big break. Although there was no way anyone would be able to enter the forgotten thaig through the long collapsed entrance, the Darkspawn had managed to create a tight, unsupported winding path through the debris. But the danger of going that route was obvious. A few feet in the reaching, rotted limbs of darkspawn could be seen poking out from under massive bits of carved stone, caught in one of countless shifts of the debris.

As soon as the Grey Wardens had found the entrance, Duncan knew it was important. He focused all the Wardens he could spare there hoping to drain it of darkspawn. It was curious to the Grey Wardens that fought there, that the darkspawn should be so agitated without an archdemon present. But they knew it wasn't a blight as well—the numbers of darkspawn were still far too low. They trusted that Duncan knew something they did not. Many of the Grey Wardens viewed Duncan with a great deal of admiration and respect. Being born as he was, a rumor had circulated over the years that he was particularly sensitive to the movements of the darkspawn. They accepted his requests without question. It didn't hurt that his mother was commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens as well.

Duncan had led the Grey Wardens to believe that there might be a dragon lurking under the lands surrounding Highever, and that this was why he was so interested in the darkspawn movement there. The idea did not sound completely outlandish, but no one would have questioned Duncan too thoroughly about it in any case.

"What news do you bring me, Ferdinand," Duncan asked the Grey Warden who stood in his study patiently waiting to be addressed.

"We think we have whittled the darkspawn forces surrounding the thaig beneath Highever down to several hundred. Do you really think another dragon sleeps beneath Highever, your majesty? Is it possible they have found another old god so soon? It usually takes a hundred years or more for them to seek another out," Ferdinand said.

"My mother once said she fought young dragons near Highever. The young come from somewhere, so it would not surprise me. Better safe than sorry. Remember, we don't want a panic. The nobles are not to know of this mission. I will be joining you by the end of the week. Please gather twenty Grey Wardens to accompany me to Highever," Duncan said.

"Yes, your majesty," Ferdinand said as he bowed.

Duncan watched the weathered Grey Warden leave, and then he turned back to some old parchment on his desk. The paper was so brittle on some of the parchment pieces Duncan had to carefully lift it with tweezers. He looked at a large map of a dwarven thaig. The map had been lost for years, but Oghren had managed to dig it up for Duncan. He stared at a small area that must have at one time housed a noble dwarven family.

Duncan pressed his hand to his forehead in pain, the map dropping out of his hand onto the desk. He scrunched up his eyes and felt his body squirm.

"I could help you with that, my lord," Naeti said stepping up to Duncan's desk.

Duncan jerked his head up and looked at Naeti. She had entered the room without his notice. She reached out, her fingers brushing Duncan's sandy colored hair off of his forehead. Duncan felt his head go fuzzy at her touch and the pain receded somewhat.

"What... do you need Naeti?" Duncan asked gritting his teeth against the pain.

"I should be asking you that question, my lord. You should let me help you. I have never heard of two souls occupying a body before. Whatever your mission is, you will not be able to complete it in this state," Naeti said sweetly.

Duncan stared up at Naeti, his body becoming tense. "What did you say?"

Naeti stood and walked around the desk. She pushed herself up onto the huge wooden structure right in front of Duncan and she casually crossed her legs.

"You asked for the best mage when you hired me. Did you think you could hide it from me?" Naeti asked stroking her fingers down Duncan's jaw.

Duncan grabbed her hand and pushed it away from his face. Naeti straddled Duncan's legs and sat down on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and entwining her fingers into his hair. She leaned in close and Duncan could feel the emotions swirling inside of him as he caught her exotic scent.

"A normal woman would not have understood you. I may have never had the opportunity to lie with you, but I could see a part of you desired it. For the last year I have been coming to your room at night, to sleep before your fire. You could have stopped the ruse long ago, but I have seen how you look upon me. I know you wish to touch me," Naeti said moving against Duncan.

Duncan moved to push her away, but something stirred within him, demanding to be sated. He pushed it back, trying desperately to keep his focus.

"No, I feel nothing for you. I can't," Duncan said hoarsely.

"No, but Duncan can, and does," Naeti said letting her fingers run over Duncan's tunic. The silky fabric slid across Duncan's skin like water. He felt his mind tear from within as Naeti spoke again, "You need to let him have what he wants. Then the pain will abate. Trust me my lord, this will help. Once you allow his desire to be sated, you will find things become easier. He is human, not like you. Human men are weak and need such things."

Naeti leaned in and kissed Duncan. Her warm tongue probed his mouth and he felt the primal desire and lust. He abandoned all attempts at control.

"Yes," he breathed as Naeti slipped her hands into his trousers.

**

Duncan woke in his bed. He looked over to see Naeti, naked and asleep on her stomach. He wiped his eyes and got out of bed. He ran his fingers through his hair expecting to feel the pain in his head return now that he had awoken.

But the elf woman had been right. The pain was lesser now, his mind more focused. Instinctively he reached into the fade to check on Lyssa and Alistair. They were still fine. Nothing had happened to them over the course of the night. He had been concerned the elf mage was trying to trick him. She seemed to know so much about his nature, yet this was the first time she had brought it up. Her revelation was so soon after he had told her he no longer needed her to come to his room. It seemed like a desperate attempt to remain close to him. The timing of her knowledge was highly suspect. But Duncan could not ignore his newly regained focus. It seemed Naeti was earnest at least, in that regard. But his wariness still prevented him from trusting her completely.

Duncan quickly got dressed and left the room. He headed downstairs to his study and picked up the old map he had been looking at the night before when he was interrupted by Naeti. He peered at it carefully before a smile crossed his face. He traced his finger down a mine shaft to an area he had noticed earlier. The noble dwarves of that thaig had built their own personal escape route, and it was disguised as a mine shaft.

"That is how I shall get in then," Duncan said.

He looked at the map of Highever and made a few rough calculations. He put the map back down and left the room to search for Teagan. He found Teagan eating a sticky bun in the courtyard.

"Teagan," Duncan said approaching.

Teagan stood and bowed hastily. Duncan waved off the gesture impatiently.

"Don't stop eating on my account. I am here to let you know I will be headed to Highever for a short while. Mother has asked me to check up on a few people, and I find myself wishing to go on a trip to clear my head," Duncan said.

"I shall ready the men," Teagan said after he swallowed the last of his bun.

"No, that won't be necessary. I will be accompanied by twenty Grey Wardens. That should suffice," Duncan said, and without even thinking about it he added, "and Naeti will accompany me as well."

Teagan looked a little shocked, "Are you sure your highness? It is uncustomary for the King...,"

"The nobles won't say anything. The lands surrounding Highever are well patrolled and twenty Grey Wardens offer more protection than a hundred knights. I will be fine," Duncan said.

"When will you be leaving then?" Teagan asked a little taken aback.

"As soon as the Grey Wardens arrive. Which should be fairly quickly, I suspect," Duncan said turning. He walked swiftly back into the castle calling over his shoulder to Teagan, "When I return, you shall have your queen."

Teagan stared after the young king in wonder.

"His bride is in Highever? Who could he possible be courting there," Teagan wondered aloud. "And he still clearly knows nothing of courting if he is planning to bring his consort with him to meet her."

**

Duncan had just finished organizing the Grey Wardens and explaining his plan when Naeti approached them. When he saw her he motioned for her to follow him and walked away from the Wardens.

"Naeti. I wanted to thank you for... last night. Tell me, what do you know about my... nature?" Duncan asked. He entered a small study and pulled Naeti in behind him.

"Not too much. I have met people who shared their minds with demons before, and I have helped vanquish them. It is lucky for you that I had, otherwise I think I would have assumed that you had a demon inside of you. But it is easy for me to see that isn't the case," Naeti said.

"I am curious. You are a powerful mage, but so is Connor, and Wynne was powerful as well. Neither of them ever suspected I shared this body with another," Duncan said

"I am from Tevinter originally, as you know. I trained there for a while before I decided to join the Circle Mages here in Ferelden. Mages in Tevinter... are trained differently. We study older magics. Even so, I only guessed what was going on. You are clearly struggling to maintain control. My guess is had Connor been watching you as much as I have for the last year, he would suspect something as well," Naeti said.

Duncan eyed Naeti carefully before speaking. "I am going to Highever on urgent business. I would like you to come with me... should the pain return."

"Of course, my lord. You need only ask. It is a task I quite enjoy," Naeti said standing to leave, "I shall get my things."

As Naeti left the room Duncan stared after her. He found himself thinking on his parents. He picked up a huge scroll on his desk and rolled it out. A map of Thedas was drawn on the old parchment in thick lines and labeled with a heavy script. Duncan ran his fingers over the raised ink that depicted the island nation of Seheron.

"Soon, mother. Soon this will all be over, and you and Father can return," Duncan said softly.


	8. Chapter 8 : Prometheus Bound

_**Chapter 8: Prometheus Bound**_

Duncan sat in his tent trying to meditate; to calm his mind. After they had been traveling for about six hours, the pain in Duncan's head had begun to return. Despite how Naeti had helped Duncan before, he was reluctant to let her help again. He rode with the hood of his cloak up, so that his grimace could not be seen by the other Grey Wardens.

When they had reached a suitable camping place for the night, Duncan had set up his tent far from everyone else. He crawled inside and sat cross legged, trying to calm the emotions of the other part of himself. Then he heard a giggle from outside the tent and the pain became unbearable.

Duncan leaned forward and pushed the flap of his tent open to see Naeti twirling her hair and talking to one of the other Grey Wardens at the edge of the cluster of tents nearest him. At the noise of him opening the flap, Wynne had hopped up expectantly. She trotted the few steps between them and sat down in front of Duncan. Naeti was giggling at something one of the Wardens had just said. Duncan clutched at his forehead in pain. Wynne whined at him persistently. He waited for the swell of pain to subside before he called out.

"Naeti," Duncan said hoarsely, "I need your counsel regarding some Tevinter writings." he said, and let the tent flap drop, turning back inside. Wynne immediately shot across the camp site, clearing the distance to Naeti in three huge bounds. She tugged at the edge of Naeti's robes while she took her leave of the Grey Warden she had been talking to.

Naeti walked over to Duncan's tent, Wynne shadowing her the entire way, herding her. She lifted the flap and stepped inside, ducking so her head wouldn't hit the top of the tent. She looked down at Duncan. He was writhing in pain. She slipped out of her out robes leaving only her underthings on.

"The pain will only get worse if you fight it," Naeti said pressing herself against Duncan. "Shh, I am here now. Let me help you."

Naeti pulled Duncan's tunic away from his top and rubbed her hands over his chest. She enjoyed the sensation of his hard muscles twitching under her touch. She bent down and licked Duncan's ribs. He shuddered, but still clenched his head in pain. Naeti pulled down his trousers and Duncan's arousal became apparent. Still he clenched his eyes shut trying to maintain control.

"You must let him out. I will make this quick, and then you will be free of the pain my lord," Naeti said as she pulled Duncan's loincloth away.

Duncan grunted as he finally let the emotions take hold. He looked down at Naeti eyes smoldering and she smiled up at him. She bent forward and took him into her mouth. Duncan leaned back into his tent giving in to the pleasure. His head hit the side of the tent and the whole structure shifted violently. After a while, Naeti straddled Duncan and guided him into her. She rose and fell with a quickening pace. Duncan cried out from the pleasure, not caring if the whole camp heard him.

Just before he thought he could take it no more, he let out a frustrated gasp as Naeti slowed down abruptly.

"Don't stop," Duncan said his voice raspy.

"It could be like this all night. You wouldn't have to fight him, if you let me block him out for a little while," Naeti said slowing her pace to a crawl as she leaned forward and whispered into Duncan's ear. Naeti ran her fingers through Duncan's soft honey colored locks.

"I can't... I need him," Duncan groaned as the feeling in his groin began to grow painful from the anticipation of release.

"I'll let him back out in a bit. My magic isn't strong enough to hold him for long anyway, you know that," Naeti cooed just on the verge of coming to a complete stop in her motion.

"Yes! Yes, just don't stop," Duncan said as he urgently forced Naeti down completely onto him.

Naeti smiled and rocked her hips a few more times, coaxing the climax out of Duncan. Duncan's hands gripped Naeti's thighs as he felt the warmth spread through his body.

Naeti leaned forward putting her hands on either side of Duncan's head. Her gray eyes stared into his half closed deep blue ones.

"Are you ready to go again," Naeti asked, black sparks erupting from her fingertips into Duncan's hair.

Duncan nodded and Naeti plunged her fingers all the way to Duncan's scalp. The magic poured into Duncan causing him to jerk a little under Naeti. After a few minutes, Naeti pulled her hands back. Duncan was unconscious beneath her. She looked down at him appraisingly.

"A pity you would not join us. I have enjoyed looking upon you," Naeti said tilting Duncan's handsome face back and forth. "Farewell Duncan."

Naeti stood and climbed out of the tent. Wynne, half asleep just outside, raised her head to look at her for just a moment before lowering it again and closing her eyes. No one was even looking Naeti's way as she transformed into a black crow and flew off.

**

Duncan awoke and smiled. He could still smell Naeti's perfume in the air. He opened his eyes and looked around the tent. He got up on his elbows to get a better look. It was still dark outside, but he could see the sky was lightening slightly. Duncan began to feel a little panicky as he looked under the blankets in his tent. He poked his head outside the flap and still saw nothing of Naeti.

Duncan put his hand on his head and cursed. Wynne, who was snuffling around the ring of tents across from his, heard it. She barked once. It was magically enhanced by the quiet of the pre-dawn evening. She looked expectantly at her master for a moment, but when he did not call her, she went back to her sniffing and digging.

"Andoral! Andoral," Duncan cried out softly. Duncan let his mind slip into the fade.

He looked around the foggy area and could see nothing.

"Andoral!" Duncan shouted.

He turned in circles feeling a little panicky. He could never remember a time when he did not share his mind with Andoral. But now Duncan could not feel Andoral's soul anywhere. Duncan let his mind slip back into his body and quickly got dressed. He crawled out of his tent and began making a round of the camp.

He had been in the fade for some time. The sun was actually coming up now, and Grey Wardens were busy breaking camp. Duncan looked around and could see no sign of Naeti. He ran back to his tent and looked around more carefully. He could see none of Naeti's footsteps leading away from his tent, only footsteps leading to it. Duncan looked up into the sky that was just now turning into a light turquoise. He closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly. Duncan's mind began to clear as the final lingering effects of the glamour Naeti had kept him under for the last year dissipated. As Duncan realized what Naeti had done to disarm him, he spoke aloud to his missing companion.

"Andoral... I'm sorry my old friend. I am still mortal. Women can still glamour me I'm afraid. Your mind might be immune to it, but mine was not," Duncan said.

He looked down and began breaking his own tent.

"I hope whatever she did, it won't keep you from me long. I'll keep going down our path, but I'm still going to need you before the end," Duncan said to himself.

**

The Grey Wardens that traveled alongside Duncan noticed a change in his demeanor immediately. He was still just as confident and capable, but he smiled and laughed and joked alongside his fellow Grey Wardens. Familiar with the stoic version of the young king, many of the Grey Wardens were taken aback by this new side of Duncan.

Many of them wondered why he had sent the elf mage off after their rambunctious night. They all thought the King sounded like he was having a really good time in his tent. But Duncan never brought up Naeti, and the other Grey Wardens were not comfortable enough with the King to ask. They all just assumed Naeti had been sent on some errand or perhaps even back to the castle.

Eventually, after some time on the road to Highever, they all began to relax and took advantage of Duncan's good mood. It reminded them all of the days when they use to travel with Lyssa and Alistair, the days when laughter and joking came easily between them. The mood was so light, that when one of the younger Grey Wardens accidentally called Duncan Alistair, the whole group burst out laughing and began telling old tales of Alistair's hijinks on the roads. They even began singing and old Bard's song of the Bastard King and his Orphan bride.

I walked down to the pub to fill my cup with ale  
A pretty lass I did see, she was telling quite the tale  
She spoke of a King a fair young bastard was he  
A King loved by all and he was as lucky as can be

His Queen was most fair, but her tale filled with woe,  
Her bravery unmatched, the archdemon her greatest foe.  
They met on the road, thereafter traveled as friends,  
But the king had his eyes beset on her lovely rear end.

But our King you see, he grew up in the Chantry,  
So he'd hadn't yet rummaged a sweet young girl's pantry  
In order to show her that he wasn't frigid,  
He's doing it still, I'm certain you know what our King did.

Wynne had been running alongside the party, barking up at the horses. As the song ended, she stopped and howled long, melodious note. Duncan smiled to himself while he thought on his mother and father. For the first time in many years he felt true sadness when he thought of the distance between them. It was because Andoral was not there to buffer his emotions. All his life, Duncan's feelings had been filtered by Andoral. Andoral was sure than Duncan's emotions would be a weakness his brother could exploit to manipulate Duncan. So Andoral muted all of Duncan's feelings, almost to the point that he felt nothing. But that was with Andoral there.

Duncan shivered a little at the loss. He knew no mage could keep Andoral away from him forever, but Naeti had been powerful enough to work a glamour against Duncan despite Andoral's efforts to quell all of his emotions. He felt a little ill when he thought of that first night he had lain with Naeti. He had never been with a woman before, and he wondered if that was how father felt when he had lain with Morrigan all those years ago, magically conducted into a state of arousal despite his lack of feelings for her. The compulsion had been too strong for Duncan to resist, primal even. It came from something that stirred deep down inside him, down below the layers of logic and emotion that he thought of as himself. His body demanded Naeti's flesh, even if his mind was repulsed by it.

Duncan had long ago come to appreciate the fact that he would never know love. Given the demands of the position of his birth, coupled with the short life the taint left him, he knew that there was no time for love in his life. And Andoral's presence had surely shortened his life even further.

One can't contain the essence of a god at no cost, Duncan thought. And it was terribly important that Andoral complete his task before Urthemiel regained his full strength. He spent every waking moment working to find Urthemiel, so his relationships with others suffered. There was no time for friendship or love in his life.

Duncan thought often of the relationship his mother and father shared. Every now and then, he would feel remorse that he would never have the chance to experience a relationship like that. But he enjoyed watching his parents together. He loved them both dearly. It truly lifted his heart to see them happy.

Thinking of his mother brought a great sadness onto Duncan suddenly. Duncan felt tears come to his eyes. He had made his mother deceive Father. Despite the fact that he knew it was the right thing to do, it still hurt Duncan to remember telling his mother to do it.

If Father realized his child with Morrigan was attacking Mother directly, Duncan thought, then he would have stopped at nothing to seek out and destroy Urthemiel.

Duncan attempted to protect himself from the onslaught of unimpeded emotions. He focused his mind as he rode and let it drift into the fade. In the misty realm of the fade, Duncan raised his arms seeking the familiar presence of his parents. He looked up and saw two brilliant beacons of clear light shining up. There were other lights, some murky, some dim. These were the people around Mother and Father. There were also some lights that were bright, but not as intense as his parents.

Those must be the other Grey Wardens, Duncan thought. They said they now had seven. But there is an eighth light here... Oh yes, it is Gildre. He is still with them then.

He watched the lights for a while. With Andoral gone, he would not be able to automatically feel them if trouble came. Andoral kept constant watch over them, but Duncan did not have that power himself. Duncan reached out gently with his mind, wishing he could be near his parents. He wished Alistair could be there to see him like this, his emotions unrestrained and normal. As soon as Duncan felt these things he pulled his mind back into his body. He cursed himself for being weak. These were the types of feelings Urthemiel would prey upon and exploit. These were the exact feelings Andoral said were the most dangerous. These were the types of feelings that would cost his parents their lives.

Duncan prodded his horse forward as he tried to think only of the task ahead.

Soon, Andoral will be back. Then it will be easier not to think on these things, Duncan thought to himself.


	9. Chapter 9 : Things Best Left Unsaid

_**Chapter 9: Things Best Left Unsaid**_

Lyssa wondered if Jasper's scowl was permanent—if even when he slept his face stayed like that. Then she tried not to think about it. The entire fiasco of Gildre and Jasper's relationship had become a conversational morass for her and Alistair months ago. They had discussed it at length so many times so often in their room, late into the night, that their discussions about it were redundant, irresolvable, and prone to leave them testy. Their last conversation on the topic had been the worst.

"You cannot simply banish emotions from people," Lyssa had said.

"Well," Alistair had said, "that's not entirely true. If he was a Tranquil…" his voice trailed off.

"Oh, brilliant solution," Lyssa had teased him. "And when you get the backbone to suggest that to him, you let me know. Perhaps you can also check and see if he'd like to be castrated as well. Heck, why not go for broke and toss in an annulment why you're at it? Would that be some kind of Templar trifecta?" Lyssa asked.

"Why must you always point out the flaws in my plans," Alistair joked. The mood had lightened a little, but still, they hadn't talked about Gildre and Jasper's relationship for months after that.

Lyssa had thought it might have ended when, after they had been in Seheron for six months, Jasper had abruptly departed on a ship bound for Ferelden. Gildre hadn't volunteered an explanation as to why, so Lyssa had assumed he was suffering from too much pain, guilt, or both to talk about it. Lyssa prevaricated over broaching the subject with him for several days but before she had a chance to ask, his mood began to lighten. Within just a few weeks of Jasper leaving, Gildre was enjoying life in Seheron as only a gallant, attractive, foreign bachelor could; indulgently, successfully, and frequently.

But after another six months without Jasper there, everything abruptly changed for Gildre. He received news from Jasper's mother in Ferelden. She had sent word by messenger bird, no small expense for someone of her station, pleading Gildre to take Jasper back. The brief message said simply that Jasper had not been sober since he arrived home to her, and that she feared he was trying to kill himself with drink. Gildre had sent word back almost immediately, paying the courier service in Seheron an exorbitant amount to guarantee the message would arrive by the end of the day. Lyssa had no idea what the message had said exactly. When Jasper arrived back in Seheron a few days later she had expected that he would be ecstatic to be reunited with Gildre. But Jasper arrived with the scowl already firmly in place, and it seemed nothing could dislodge it.

It all finally came to a head after Jasper had been back with them for nearly a year. Despite the fact that Gildre didn't talk to them about Jasper, they, and most of surrounding city, got periodic updates by way of the loud arguments that they couldn't help but overhear Gildre and Jasper engage in. As time passed, what was an occasional argument became more and more frequent, until it was almost a nightly event. Although the cohesiveness of the dialog and the loudness of the argument varied based on how drunken Jasper was, the gist was still the same. Jasper accused Gildre of being a drunken whore one moment, then, sometimes in the same breath, cried that Gildre wouldn't even touch him anymore the next. Lyssa and Alistair weren't certain how Gildre was dealing with this. His side of the conversation was always too quiet to be heard.

After one particularly loud row, Gildre showed up at their bedchamber, terribly depressed. His knock at the door had been so soft and tentative, so completely unlike Gildre. Even Lyssa's keen hearing had barely detected it.

Gildre had shuffled into the room, unable to look up from his feet. "What have I gotten myself into," he had sighed, dropping down face first into their bed. Lyssa had been sitting on a chair by the fire, polishing her daggers with a cloth, while Alistair sat opposite her, pouring over yet another book on the Qun.

"You have to help me. I can't go on like this anymore," Gildre had said without lifting his head, his voice muffled by the bed.

"Gildre," Lyssa had carefully sheathed one blade and then pulled out the other. "This isn't something we can help you with. This isn't something anyone can help you with. You and Jasper need to figure this thing out on your own. We all know how Jasper feels about us," she motioned with her dagger, encompassing all three of them in the gesture. "Anything Alistair or I did or said to try to intervene would just make things worse."

"But you're not supposed to care what he thinks or does or says," Gildre had whined into the bed. "You're my friends, not his."

"Well, fine then. As your friend I'm telling you what you need to do is toughen up then. Make a decision and stick by it," Lyssa had said, diligently rubbing at one obstinate spot on her dagger until it shone.

Gildre had finally sat up then and glared at Lyssa.

"You are the least helpful friend I have. I think perhaps I'd be better served getting advice from Sten than you," Gildre had mocked, a little of his usual playfulness back. But almost as soon as it had appeared, it had vanished. His eyes had fallen back to his feet, and he had said, "You know it's not that easy. To decide I mean, I really do care for him. Do you know how panicked I was when I got his mother's message? I thought, I still fear, that if I…" he had paused, as if he couldn't bring himself to say it, then had finally finished, "If I do end it, if I really end it forever, what if he does… Lyssa what if he does something terrible to himself?" From his tone, Lyssa could tell Gildre was on the verge of crying.

She hadn't answered right away. She had kept polishing and checking, polishing and checking her dagger. After almost a minute had past she finally stopped polishing for a moment, looked steadily at Gildre and then had said "Sounds a bit like blackmail to me." Then she had gone back to polishing her dagger.

Gildre had fallen back onto the bed then, face up this time. Suddenly, as if a floodgate had opened, six months of pent up thoughts came gushing out. "No, it's not blackmail. Do you think when he left before he told me on the way out 'Goodbye and bugger you. I'm off to drink myself to death'? I only found out because his mother sent me a message. He hadn't said anything before he left. He was so calm and quiet about the whole thing. I thought maybe he was… that he and I had come to the same conclusion. He never let me know how much I was hurting him, because… don't you see? It was because he didn't want to hurt me. I am such a worthless bastard. I don't understand why he even cares about me. But he was content to let himself waste away without ever telling me. He asked me, you know? Well, no, you wouldn't. I never told you about that. He asked me if I wanted to end it before we ever came to Seheron, said that he would understand if I wanted to. But I couldn't do it. I tried to, and then I…I panicked. I was afraid. I'd been with Jasper so long, and I thought you were heading to the Deep Roads soon… I didn't want to be alone… But it doesn't matter now. Now I'm responsible for it all. There has to be a way to fix it. There has to be a way to make him better."

Alistair had glanced at Lyssa then, clearly uncertain what to say next. While Gildre had been speaking, she'd sheathed her daggers and set them aside so she could give Gildre her full attention. Her face had been full of sympathy then, despite her best efforts to remain emotionally disengaged. She had started wringing her hands unconsciously. Then Alistair had turned to Gildre and said it.

"If it really is life and death, uh... maybe there's a third option. He'd be free of his pain if he was Tranquil." Alistair's voice had been calm and soft, he was clearly not jesting this time.

"Alistair!" Lyssa had shouted angrily. "That is not an option. Jasper's a mage—he knows what the Tranquil are and how to get it done. If that's what he wanted, he'd already be Tranquil."

But Gildre hadn't been listening to her. He'd been staring at Alistair, clearly working through the idea.

"Maybe if...," Gildre had started, but Lyssa had cut him short.

"Gildre, you can't. I didn't want to say anything. But some people have very big, thoughtless mouths," she had given Alistair an icy stare, and he had pretended to ignore it, reading his book. "Think of how Jasper will feel if you suggest that. What are you going to say to him, 'Can't get over me, eh? Well I have a solution for that! Let's just scoop all those pesky emotions out completely. As a bonus, not only will you be over me, you'll never ever have to worry about falling in love with the wrong man ever again!'"

Alistair had put his book down then, abandoning any illusion of reading it. Hearing her put it that way made him realize the absurdity it. He had reached out and put his hand on Lyssa's knee then, saying just "I'm sorry," not meeting her gaze.

Alistair hadn't even looked up when he continued, "Lyssa is right, Gildre. I should never have mentioned it. It's just ludicrous. You know this."

"Yeah," Gildre had said as he climbed out of the bed dejectedly. "I know."

Lyssa hoped that would be the death of that idea. She was cautiously optimistic. Nearly a week had passed since that conversation, and she hadn't overheard a single shouting match.

Maybe they've patched things up, Lyssa found herself thinking as she danced away from Alistair's lunge. Lyssa and Alistair were in the open aired training area in the center of the barracks. The other Grey Wardens were scattered around the training area, paired off and sparring as well. Suddenly, loud enough to be heard even over the echoing sound of metal and wood colliding, Jasper's shout of "Why did you even bring me here?!" rang out from one of the second floor barrack's windows overlooking the training areas. All sparring in the barracks stopped almost at once, and an awkward silence settled upon the group. They looked back and forth from each other, uncertain.

"Why bring me back here?" Jasper continued. "You have no intention of being with me. You go around to the town, whoring yourself out to everyone. Why would you bring me here to watch that? Do you hate me? Do you? You should have just left me in Ferelden. At least then I wouldn't have to let you shove it in my face all the time," Jasper's voice kept growing louder and shriller, until he was screaming by the end.

"You were killing yourself." Gildre's voice, not shouting, but loud, responded. "Do you think I could just ignore that?"

"Of course you can! We're over, remember?" Jasper was shouting again, but the shrill desperate tone had been replaced with a righteous anger. "You lied to me in Amaranthine. I asked you if it was over then, I tried to leave, and you told me to stay with you! You asked me to come with you so I did. Then you just kept shitting on me like you always do and I couldn't take it anymore. I left and you were fine with that. Then you begged me to come back, you swore things would be different. So I did. I am such an idiot. You are never going to be different. Every time you open your mouth another lie comes out. Why can't you just let me go? Do you enjoy hurting me? Do you want to see me like this?" Jasper cried.

"No," Gildre had shouted, then lower, almost inaudibly for the group in the training area, continued, "Please... I just. I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want you to hurt. I don't want you to go back home and drink yourself to death either. I'm afraid to have you apart from me because I do care for you. You must know I still care," Gildre had said, but Jasper interjected.

"Ha! Sure, you care every bit as much as I do. Now tell me how this hurts you more than it hurts me!"

"If you feel so terrible, there are other options." Gildre said after a moment.

"What other options? Just kill myself now for you so you don't have to fret about me anymore? There is only one option. I'm leaving, and there's nothing you can do to stop me." Jasper shouted back.

Whatever Gildre said next was soft enough that Lyssa couldn't make it out. She was embarrassed to find herself craning her head to hear. Then she noticed that Alistair was doing the same. As she looked at Alistair, her memory suddenly decided to serve up their last conversation with Gildre. Lyssa sucked in her breath, fairly certain she knew what Gildre was saying, or building up the will to say, right now. She stepped over to Alistair and grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly while she waited for the inevitable.

"What!?" Jasper's tone had changed. It was still loud, but no longer ragged with raw anger. Instead, the tone was icy. Lyssa recognized that tone at once. It was hatred. "I can't believe you could even suggest that. Do you even know what that word means? No, no you don't do you? The only people who really understand it are mages… Mages and Templars!" His shout was quickly followed by the loud bang of a door being slammed shut.

"Shite," Alistair said putting his face in his hand.

Lyssa scanned the building. She could picture their progress through the building as she caught scraps of their conversation drifting from open barrack's doors and windows. She had become so intimate with this building over the last two years she could tell the moment they were about to step out into the training area.

"Jasper, no. He didn't have anything to do with this. It's me, it's all me. You're right, I'm the bastard, me," Gildre was pleading as he trailed Jasper through the door.

Lyssa positioned herself between the approaching red-faced, ferocious looking Jasper and Alistair. For once, he wasn't scowling. But the expression he wore was no improvement. His eyes were wild, fully dilated and unwaveringly locked on to Alistair. Lyssa deftly unsheathed one of her blades and the other Grey Wardens became instantly wary. Alistair tried to step in front of Lyssa, but she held him back.

"Perhaps this is not the best time for you to try to console him. He does think you're the man that suggested he have all his emotions cut out," Lyssa hissed over her shoulder at Alistair, who was still struggling to get in front of her.

"I can handle myself," Alistair said petulantly.

"If a fight breaks out, I intend to let you. But let's try to avoid that, shall we? Now quit squirming," Lyssa said as Jasper closed the last few steps between them. "Vashedan!" Lyssa cursed.

In the last few strides, Jasper's hands had caught fire. The flames licked the sleeves of his robes. He stopped just inches from Lyssa, glaring over her shoulder at Alistair.

"Calm yourself, Jasper," Lyssa said in a stern voice.

"You," Jasper said angrily, suddenly aware of her. Gildre was behind Jasper, tugging at his arm, trying to pull him away. "You are part of the problem. You know he loves Alistair and you all just carry on like that's normal! It's not normal! Everyone's just too polite to say anything to you because you're the King and Queen. And as an added bonus, because of his feeling, you both know you'll always have someone around who'll jump in front of an arrow for you, not because it's their job but because they have to because they love you. You're as much to blame as him. I'll be glad to chew through you to get to him."

"You do not know me, Jasper. And we are not a part of this quarrel," Lyssa said darkly.

"You are the quarrel!" Jasper said, trying to circle around Lyssa to get to Alistair.

Lyssa moved to keep herself between them, "No. You wish it were that easy. You wish you could blame us for this. But you know it's been years since Gildre looked at Alistair with lust. You know this. I'm betting that's why you left, because you realized that it wasn't that Gildre was in love with someone else. The problem is that he isn't in love with you. That is why you left and you know it. Jasper, life is rarely fair and sometimes, no matter what, it will not be bent to our will."

Jasper stared angrily at Lyssa, but the flames on his hands had already begun to die down. Then Jasper's face crumpled, and he turned and ran from the training area. Gildre looked at Lyssa, clearly uncertain what to do next.

"Go," Lyssa said to Gildre.

"I'm so sorry," Gildre said. Then he turned and ran towards the door Jasper had just disappeared into.

"This is not going to end well," Alistair said from behind Lyssa.

"No," Lyssa said shaking her head, "I don't think it will."

**

Lyssa was talking animatedly to the small knot of seven Grey Wardens bunched around her when she glanced up and caught Jasper scowling at her from the corner of the training area. Lyssa supposed the scowl meant things were better. For days after his near assault of Alistair, she and Alistair hadn't seen Jasper. Gildre had gone back to not talking about him at all, and Lyssa wasn't going to ask. She knew that Jasper hadn't left Seheron this time though, because she occasionally overheard the other Wardens talking about him. She had to admit that, despite his motivations, the fact that he had completely eluded both of them for days was impressive. Finally, a few days ago, he had begun to pop up again, always trailing Gildre and always in the furthest corner he could be from Lyssa and Alistair. She shrugged off his cold glance and focused on the training exercise.

The seven Seheron Grey Wardens they'd recruited were all excellent fighters, but she found that the Q'unari were still underestimating their elven brothers.

"This is a feint used by many elves in the Alienage. It comes in handy if you are fighting an opponent larger than you are." Lyssa said. One of the Q'unari, Dread, raised one eyebrow archly. "I know it can be hard to believe anything is larger than a Q'unari," Lyssa said. Two of the elven Grey Wardens chuckled at that, and Dread looked at them, uncomprehending. "But ogres are quite large indeed. I will demonstrate. Dread, would you charge me? For this exercise we will not even use the training blades. The movement of this feint is very fast, and you could be injured easily."

Dread looked down at Lyssa and crossed his arms, "I do not wish to hurt you, kadan. Choose another."

"I understand your fear. Bigfoot, step forward," Lyssa said turning to Bigfoot.

As Bigfoot stepped forward, Dread put out his huge hand and slapped it against Bigfoot's chest, stopping him in place. Bigfoot bowed his head to Dread and stepped back. Dread stepped forward and made a noise. It might have been a word, but all Lyssa could make out was a grunt.

"Brave of you," Lyssa said smiling.

"You have yet to fell me in training. You are confident now. I find this… odd. Regardless, I will triumph," Dread said entering the sparring circle, "again." Dread gave the smallest of grins.

"Show me what you got," Lyssa said smiling back.

Dread circled Lyssa, watching her feet and her arms. She stood as if she held two blades. Dread waited until she was in the middle of a shuffling step and, seeing an opening, he dug his feet in and charged full speed at Lyssa, loosing a savage growl as he came. He noticed Lyssa shift her weight onto her right foot as he advanced, so just before impact he moved left, anticipating the feint.

Lyssa only feinted right, she was still perfectly balanced when Dread lurched to her right. She quickly shifted her weight left once she saw Dread had committed his movement.

Dread blew past her, his arms flailing as he desperately tried to check his momentum and reach out to grab Lyssa at the same time. As he sailed by her, he was almost certain he felt a hard, open palmed slap land, smarting, on his rump. He didn't have time to fully register his shock at this before he plowed headlong into a one of the many piled bales of hay that lined the training area's walls.

"And that is a double feint. As I said, very popular among elves, as they usually find themselves facing larger foes," Lyssa said smiling at the Grey Wardens. Even the Q'unari Wardens had grins on their faces as Dread clumsily extracted himself from the hay bales.

"You did not tell me it was to be a double feint," Dread said grumpily.

"No? I'm sorry about that. But I'm afraid if you expect all your foes to shout out what they are going to do before they do it, then you'll end up mighty disappointed," Lyssa said. "It takes a lot of work, and you have to be fast, otherwise you'll end up being bowled over. It helps if you make the first feint a tad more obvious to your attacker. The best part about this move is that your attacker gains a great deal of confidence when they recognize your first feint, thinking you are unwittingly exposed. They may have been somewhat cautious when charging at first, but once they think they have spotted your feint, they almost always put all their strength into the charge. This obviously means when they miss you, they miss badly. Pair off, elves versus Q'unari, and give it a try."

Alistair walked up to her then. He had been watching from a nearby doorway, leaning against the frame.

Lyssa stepped out of the combat circle and joined Alistair. The Grey Wardens began to pair off. Gildre and Jasper remained seated, at the far corner of the room. They watched the Grey Wardens train without talking to each other. Lyssa wasn't certain they had even looked at each other since they sat down. They just both mutely stared in the direction of the Wardens.

Alistair reached out and put his arm around Lyssa. He pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear.

"I never tire of watching you do that. Has anyone ever actually compensated after the first feint?" he whispered.

"Yes actually. Duncan spotted it the first time I tried it with him. I think he was only seven or so. He crashed right into me and knocked me down," Lyssa whispered back.

Alistair laughed as he squeezed Lyssa's shoulder. Suddenly, Lyssa was overcome by an odd sensation. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on it.

It's faint, but… yes, Lyssa thought to herself, yes, I think it's Duncan! She looked around thinking it was possible he had come as a surprise, but she saw nothing. She could always tell when he was close, as could Alistair. Then Lyssa felt a chill run down her back, as if an ice cold hand had just run down her spine. Without warning, her legs gave way under her. She grabbed at Alistair, barely stopping herself from falling. He pulled her back up to him in both arms. Lyssa pressed her head hard against his chest, and her fingernails bit into his back.

"What is it?" Alistair asked in a panic.

The Grey Wardens nearest them stopped sparring with each other, and then the stillness fanned out from them through the other duos. Dread ran up to them and put one meaty hand on Lyssa's shoulder.

"Sparring with me was too much for you, kadan," Dread said, his tone deadpan.

"Very good, Dread." Lyssa laughed, and it sent a shooting pain through her skull. "You are getting much better at the humor thing," Lyssa said. She forced her legs to respond, and they slowly solidified beneath her. She pushed away from Alistair and stood, a little unsteadily. "I'm fine everyone. Just... a little too much heat I think. Carry on."

The Grey Wardens paired back off with each other, and were back to training in a few moments. Alistair grabbed Lyssa's hand. Gildre was walking hurriedly across the training area. Jasper remained seated on a bench. Lyssa noticed that for once Jasper wasn't scowling at her. He was looking at Lyssa with an unreadable expression.

"Is everything... okay?" Gildre asked.

"Yes, I think I just need to lie down for a little while," Lyssa said. Alistair squeezed her hand.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," Lyssa said firmly. "I'll be fine. I'll just be up in the bedchamber. They'll take all afternoon to get this move down."

"Okay... if you are sure," Alistair said.

"Yes. I'll see you later." Lyssa leaned up against Alistair and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Okay then. Rest up," Alistair said. "You know, watching you train always gets me worked up."

Lyssa smiled and then headed off into the barracks.


	10. Chapter 10 : A Rabbit in a Snare

_**Chapter 10: A Rabbit in a Snare**_

The thaig was almost as hot as it was dark. The dry air seemed to pulse with the heat, thrumming against her as she circled in wide loops near the thaig's ceilings. Naeti was having a hard time flying here. The eddies in the dusty thaig, lost so long ago that no dwarven mouth had spoken its name in centuries, were completely unpredictable. Wherever she drifted, or was blown, she saw the same thing below her; innumerable darkspawn sprawled lifeless on the ground. Eventually she managed to work her way to a large building carved directly into the stone. She swooped in towards the massive grand entrance at the front of the building, the largest in the thaig. She timed her change perfectly. Her shape became liquid, and it reformed as it dropped. It happened in less than a moment, and then her form solidified, her foot touching down on the ground at that precise moment she was fully herself again. In a motion so fluid it was impossible to tell where the magic ended and her stride began, she walked on into the building. The forward momentum from her flight had never been broken.

Naeti walked confidently through dark empty hallways, although they were lit only sporadically by the light of the occasional dim candle. She came finally to the throne room. She found herself taking a sharp involuntary breath as she entered the throne room and saw him. No matter how much time she spent around him, it always happened when she stepped into the presence of the man sitting on the throne. His hair, cut short and straight, was so black the night sky itself seemed pale in comparison. She knew from experience that its texture rivaled that of even the finest Tevinter silks. His eyes were warm pools of amber flecked with gold. His face was strong and sharply defined. He was both unsettling and compelling at the same time, like an exotically beautiful jungle beast. Despite the pale, glowing tone of his skin he was somehow ruggedly handsome and breathtakingly beautiful all at once. And his body was a thing to be marveled at. Naeti had seen statues that had been carved in his likeness, ages ago, and she had thought them beautiful. But not one of them had come close to the truth of him.

When Naeti had first come upon him he had been naked, and seemed not to care. Naeti, hoping to win his approval, had brought him clothing she thought befitting a god. The rare garments had been made by the Tevinter mages long ago, when they still hoped the Old Ones might return. But he had tossed them aside after barely glancing at them and instead conjured up a snug fitting pair of soft trousers. Naeti had never seen a fabric like it was made from. The material was soft to the touch, smooth across the surface, but the material itself was thick and rugged feeling. Despite that, it seemed to mold itself to him after he put them on, every smooth bump of muscular definition still plainly visible through it. He had then proceeded to conjure up a vest of the same material. It hugged his well formed body just as tightly as the trousers had. His arms remained bare.

Naeti stepped forward, gracefully descending into a bow as she did so.

"My lord," she said with reverence.

"You have returned. Might I hope this means you have finally dealt with my brother?" the man asked in a surly tone.

"Yes my lord. The power you gave me allowed me to do as you asked. Your brother will not bother you for some time," Naeti said, her head still bowed.

The man steepled his fingers, leaning forward a little in his throne, staring over her head. A smile spread slowly across his face.

"This is good. I was sure you'd just prove to be yet another incompetent," the man said, "and I tire of replacing you."

Naeti flinched at the words.

"I am sorry my lord. I only wish to please you," she said. She rose and approached the throne.

Naeti reverentially ascended the dais's three steps. As she reached the throne, she quickly dropped to one knee again. She cautiously reached forward and very softly laid her hands upon his thighs. He looked down at her disinterestedly. She reached up and touched his hair with her fingertips, closing her eyes and shuddering slightly at the sensation of it.

"Will my lord let me please him?" Naeti asked, a note of desperation entering her voice.

Naeti's eyes shot open at a sudden pain in her wrists. The man was firmly holding them. With the smallest flick of motion, and without a sign of effort, he flung Naeti back down the steps of the dais. She had just enough time to get her legs and arms under her, and then she hit the ground. The fleshy thud of her hands and knees impacting echoed uninterrupted in the chamber for a moment.

"Your flesh no longer holds my interest, now that my prize is finally within reach. You have served me well enough, but you are spent and useless now, mortal. I no longer need you. Leave," the man said coldly.

"My lord, Urthemiel, no!" Naeti wailed. She was still recumbent on the floor. She crawled up the dais on her hands and knees and grabbed his feet. "Please forgive me! If I have done something wrong... I will fix it. You must not send me away!" Naeti began to kiss his bare feet.

"There is nothing you can do for me any longer. Your fate was to hold my interest for a short while, and that task has been fulfilled. Go now. My patience with you is wearing thin. Or do you wish me to end your pathetic mortal existence for you?" Urthemiel asked cruelly. He shook his leg, and the quick motion sent Naeti soaring across the room.

Naeti slammed into the wall across from the throne, near the grand entrance. She slid down it, crumpling on the floor. She was gasping with sharp, deep sobs of pain as she struggled to her feet. She looked up once more at her lord, but he was no longer even facing her. She ran from the throne room, wincing with each step. As soon as she reached the open air of the thaig, she launched herself forward over the steps leading down from the palace. She transformed into a crow as she fell, corkscrewing slowly through the air, the steps flying past just inches beneath her. Just a moment before she hit the ground below, the transformation completed. She shot her wings out, halting her spiraling descent with one mighty flap of her broad wings. And then she was soaring up, tossed forward by one of the many rough and random eddies of the thaig. It was as if the thaig itself wanted to expel her.

Urthemiel hadn't even waited to see if Naeti had survived his kick. Instead, he reclined into his throne and let his mind drift into the fade. He knew exactly where to look.

Urthemiel waited patiently in the foggy realm. The mists swirled around him, vague fleeting shapes appearing, refusing to show him anything distinct. But he didn't need his vision here, in the Fade, to sense Duncan approaching him in the mortal world of Ferelden. He sensed Duncan was somewhere nearby, perhaps even in the lands of Highever above. He waited, unbothered by the thought of the inevitable confrontation with the avatar, Duncan, nor the immortal within him.

"Come brother!" Urthemiel bellowed loudly into the drifting, shapeless forms in the mists. More quietly, he said "Perhaps I will finally persuade you."

Urthemiel continued to wait. He reached out with his mind, groping for Duncan's presence. He anticipated that sometime soon Duncan would use the power Andoral had given him to enter the Fade to seek out his mother and assure her safety. Then he felt it, the familiar sensation, as it popped into the Fade. He knew immediately that it was Duncan, and he concentrated all his attention on the young man. He waited, taut with anticipation. Urthemiel knew that without Andoral to help, Duncan would be unable to sense him. Yet, he remained cautiously still. He had waited too long for this to risk failure here, at the last. Once he finally sensed Duncan set off purposefully in one direction, Urthemiel let his essence turn into mist, indistinguishable from the rolling fog of the fade around him, and followed.

As he approached Duncan, he was able to make out Duncan's form more clearly from the other indistinct shapes flitting by in the Fade. Urthemiel slowed and trailed Duncan closely. Duncan was moving cautiously, stopping intermittently to close his eyes and tip his head back in concentration. Duncan seemed uncertain which way to proceed. Urthemiel could see him singling out a tiny, soft glow—another essence in the fade—and head towards it. As he drew closer to it, Duncan stopped. He raised his hand in the direction of the soft glow and waited. He sensed that this wasn't the right presence, and doubled back.

Urthemiel had no problem identifying these lesser souls that were distracting Duncan, and he was frustrated by the boy's inept fumbling. But Duncan didn't have Urthemiel's vantage, occupying only a lesser dimension of the fade. Where Duncan only saw roiling mists about him, and relied solely on a feeling to direct him, Urthemiel's other sense allowed him to perceive the vast, almost countless souls that drifted in the mists all around Duncan. Urthemiel could see them as a mix of cannonball-sized glowing spheres of light—those consciousnesses now wholly in the fade, and smaller intensely bright marbles, a single thin filament of light trailing down from each of them—those beings currently awake in the mortal realm.

All about them he could see the milieu of these lesser souls and he knew instantly that not one of these countless many was the soul he sought. But he must wait on Duncan; he needed him. Even with his ability to distinguish the souls from each other on a grand scale far beyond the ability of this mortal, it would take Urthemiel too long to drift randomly among the near infinite presences dotting the fade to find what he sought. He hoped Duncan, exploiting the special connection he had with Urthemiel's prize, would be able to point him in the right direction. Then Urthemiel shuddered with a familiar sensation. He stopped following Duncan and looked about; in the distance the dim gloaming of the fade was brightened by a warmer sunny glow, more intense than the dull bluish-white blips of the other souls drifting about. He stopped where he was, watching Duncan. Duncan must have finally seen it, or perhaps sensed it as well, or both, as he headed off in that direction.

Urthemiel hung back and let his body solidify. He stood watching Duncan speed off towards the light and was motionless for minutes, perhaps hours—time and distance were meaningless and impossible to gauge here in the Fade.

Finally, Duncan reached the light of the bright soul. He lovingly took the intensely burning light into his hands and brought it to his chest. Duncan held it there for a moment, his eyes partly closed. Urthemiel felt a unexpected pang of guilt when he saw Duncan comfortingly embrace his mother's soul. It reminded Urthemiel of the way a lost child might grip his mother tightly when reunited with her. The feeling was fleeting however, and was soon forgotten. Urthemiel grew anxious waiting for Duncan to move on.

Then, suddenly, Duncan's eyes shot open. He let go off the soul, and it drifted gently a few feet away. Duncan glanced around desperately to his left, then right, spinning around in a quick circle.

Urthemiel heard Duncan mutter something harsh and guttural, and then Duncan vanished. Urthemiel rushed forward to the bright, clear light of the soul he was seeking. The warm light it emitted became whiter and more intense as he approached.

The soul bobbed softly in the air before him, the bauble of intense energy almost too bright for even Urthemiel to look at directly. Its radiance increased while he stood there, its light spearing far out into the fade in every direction. The intense glow caught in and was refracted by the fog around them, turning the air into an opaque white tomb. Urthemiel reached hesitantly forward, his hand inches from the sphere, and paused. His fingers shot out and touched the ball. It reacted violently, jumping quickly away from his touch. It sputtered, the light jumping though several different shades of pale green. Then it strobed intensely white for just a moment. Urthemiel flung up his hands to shield his eyes and at that moment the soul shot away, impossibly fast. As it streaked into the mists of the fade, its light became muffled and diffuse, melting indistinctly into the gentle glow of the fog.

"Too many of them here for you to hide among," Urthemiel cursed as more bright souls crowded around his prey. "No matter," he called in the direction the light had darted off. " I have waited this long, a little longer will be of no consequence. With the power I gave her, the mage's spell should keep my brother away from me long enough for me to find you—and then it will be too late."

**

Lyssa hugged her arms around herself. She was chilled and shivering, despite the sultry Seheron air. She hastily started up a fire, stoking the flames in the small fireplace as high as she dared. Once it was roaring, Lyssa pulled off her armor and blades and put them away before diving under the blankets on the bed. She shivered; the sheets felt icy against her bare skin.

Lyssa's teeth chattered as she drew the blankets tightly around her. Her eyelids drooped and she felt suddenly crushingly tired, as if she had spent days awake.

What is wrong, she thought to herself, panic beginning to sound dully in the back of her slow, groggy mind. She put her hand to her forehead, and though it felt chilly to her, her hand came away sopping wet.

"Am I sick?" she asked herself out loud.

Lyssa began to get out of bed, thinking she would need to get a healer before the illness got worse. But she found she could not rise beyond one elbow. She fell back into the bed shivering violently. Then, she remembered something important too late.

"No," Lyssa gasped. She could feel herself slipping away, the room growing dim at the periphery of her vision. "No, please. Alistair..." Lyssa mumbled weakly. Then, with a final burst of adrenaline fueled panic, she open her eyes one last time and said, "Duncan, help me!"

Then Lyssa's went limp in the bed, no longer trembling with cold, and became very still. To anyone looking in the room she looked as if she were sleeping peacefully.

**

Lyssa opened her eyes. Her chill was gone and now she found herself standing on the grassy plains of Highever. At first she was disoriented and confused. She couldn't figure out why she was in Highever or how she had gotten there. Then it dawned on her that she had felt something very like this before, and she knew that she wasn't really in Highever. This was the fade. As soon as she realized that, her memory came back and she knew who had pulled her here. She forced down the terror she felt welling inside her, reigning in her emotions with the battle discipline of a veteran soldier, but it took her a few moments. Then she scanned the horizon and she saw him, standing there. Although she had only sensed him before, and not seen him, when he had taken her into the fade almost two years ago, she still knew him on sight. He was standing in the grass watching her, his eyes full of desire and need.

Lyssa instinctively went for her blades, but she found she was not wearing them. She looked down at her hands and saw they did not look quite right. The many scars that crisscrossed her skin from years of training Grey Wardens and fighting the blight were no longer there. She was clad in her armor, and she took a moment to look at it more closely. Although it still felt like her armor, it was not as weathered as she remembered it being. The edges of the skirt weren't cracking from the years of hard use.

Lyssa looked back up to find the man approaching her. She resisted the instinct to run. She knew it wouldn't do her any good anyway.

If I am to survive this, Lyssa thought, I must remain calm.

"Yes... this is how I remember you best," he said as he closed the gap between them. "The first time I saw you, you shined so brightly. Your being was lit from within by the very stars themselves," Urthemiel said, smiling at Lyssa.

Lyssa remained quiet.

"But you probably remember me more like this," Urthemiel said. Suddenly he was transforming, his shape billowing out in an expanding mass of darkness, and then solidifying before Lyssa into an archdemon. The black dragon raised its head and belched a dark cloud into the fair skies over Highever. It lowered its face and its red eyes bored into Lyssa. She clenched her fists trying to stay calm. She could feel her nails biting into her palms.

Then, in a blink, Urthemiel the man stood before her again and the archdemon was gone. He circled her, looking at her appreciatively.

"Unfortunate you had to see me like that. My dragon form is really much more appealing when it hasn't been ruined by the taint. But the darkspawn despise such beauty and pure power. They spend their endless anger and rage on an endless mission to corrupt my brothers and sisters. Tis a pity there are so few of us left in this world now," Urthemiel said. He had stopped behind Lyssa, close against her, his breath on her neck. He let one finger slide down Lyssa's arm.

Lyssa pulled back from his touch and glowered at him.

"Oh," Urthemiel said huskily, "so forceful. Yes, this is how I remembered it," he said purring as he moved in closer to Lyssa.

"Stay back," Lyssa demanded.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that. Your light... it is irresistible. I have missed it. It has been long since I have lain with a warrior of the light. My own wife, she glowed as you do. I should have followed her... but that time has passed. Perhaps I will be ready soon, in a few hundred years, and I will follow you. But now... it has been so long since I have truly enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh." Urthemiel stepped close to her again, leaning in to her, his nose almost touching her neck as he inhaled deeply. "That elf mage is no match for you, merely a distraction while I waited." He stepped in closer, and began to spread his arms to encircle her.

Lyssa jerked back from Urthemiel and turned away. Despite her rage and fear she had found it disconcertingly hard to break away from his gaze; his amber eyes were almost hypnotic.

"I am no fool—I know I cannot stop you from doing as you wish," she said, without turning to look at him. "But I am not now nor will I ever be truly yours, despite what you do. But know this. If you force yourself on me, I will despise you for it."

"You misunderstand my intentions," Urthemiel said as he moved around her so that they were facing again. She stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. "If I only wanted to have you, to force myself upon you… I could easily do that. But that is not what I want. If that were so, I never would have let you see my true face."

He caught her chin and forced her head up. Lyssa gasped as she looked into Alistair's face, as young and beautiful as the day she first met him. He smiled at her and she could not help but smile back at the familiar face she so dearly loved. Unlike the Alistair doppelganger she had encountered the first time she had been pulled into the fade so many years ago, this one was a perfect copy, right down to the speck of dark brown in his left iris.

"And there's the smile I love so much," Urthemiel said, and his voice was Alistair's. Not an imitation, but truly her husband's voice.

It took everything Lyssa had to hold herself back. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around Alistair and hold him until she woke from this nightmare.

"But... this is no fun. I do not wish to be my flesh father. I should not have to pretend to be a mortal for you to love me. I am not like Andoral, hiding behind the flesh of another to gain your favor. He is a fool. I will win you as I have won so many others. With patience. And once I find your flesh..." Urthemiel paused, and his body glowed brightly for a moment from within. Lyssa squinted against the light, and she could just make out that Urthemiel's features and shape where shifting from Alistair's back to his own form. After he finished, he said, "but first I must deal with my brother. He approaches me now, even as we speak, riding hard to reach me in time… but he is too late," Urthemiel said, dropping into a chair that appeared suddenly out of nowhere behind him.

"Duncan," Lyssa said, putting her hand over her mouth.

"Yes... my flesh brother comes. I may let you see him before he dies. A kindness, nothing more; I expect nothing in return. However, if you should choose to reward this kindness, I would... be pleased," Urthemiel said.

Lyssa turned away from him, disgusted. She let herself fall to the ground, landing in a splayed sitting position, her back to Urthemiel. She clenched her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. She did not like feeling helpless, yet here she was. She turned north and looked out over the fields. North was where her body was, north of the Free Marches, Antiva and Tevinter. So far away from here. Duncan could not reach it to free her, if that was how it worked, if he needed to touch her physical body to draw her out of the fade. She suspected it was no coincidence the land around them looked like Highever. She wasn't certain what was going on exactly, she knew she was in the fade, but it felt slightly different this time, and the fade had certainly never looked so real to her before. She could see a small town off in the distance, and fields and farms stretching out in all directions. They were somewhere deep within the Ferelden countryside, and Lyssa was sure there had to be a reason

Urthemiel had brought her soul to this particular place. If he was speaking the truth, and Lyssa believed he had no reason to lie, then Duncan was on his way here, to Highever, and not towards Seheron. She thought about Duncan and feared for her son. What if Urthemiel could just strike Duncan down as he had hinted? If there was a chance that she could stop that from happening, she had to take it.

"I would like that... very much," Lyssa said.

She could hear the Old God rise from his seat and move through the grass toward her. She tried not to flinch when she felt his hand in her hair. He carefully untied the bun at the back of her head and let Lyssa's hair fly free in the breeze. She felt him stroke it gently as he spoke.

"Your wish is my command," he said very close to her.

**

Alistair walked up the stairs to his bedchamber. He opened the door and saw Lyssa was still sleeping. She twitched a little when he entered and he smiled at her, thinking she was rousing.

"You should have seen Bigfoot trying that double feint. I swear to Andraste, the man does not know the meaning of subtle," Alistair laughed as he pulled off his boots.

He unstrapped his gauntlets and placed them on a dresser, continuing, "Sten came by to watch a little. I think he wanted to talk to you. I wonder if he regrets accepting the position of Kithshok. He's been here in the barracks more than he's been up at the castle so much these past few months." Alistair unclasped his breastplate and hung it on a hook on the wall.

Alistair turned to Lyssa, about to take off his tunic. It was then that he noticed that Lyssa hadn't moved since he came in. His brow knitted as he approached the bed. He reached down and touched Lyssa's face gently. He jerked his hand back at the touch, the cold emanating from her skin surprising him.

"No!" he cried out. He fell to his knees beside the bed and pulled Lyssa to him, shaking her as he yelled, "Wake up! Damn it Lyssa, wake up. Wake up!"

Alistair took a deep breath and tried to think. He pounded his head angrily with his fist. He expected that, beyond all reason, that last time it was something Duncan had done that had woken Lyssa, but Duncan was far away in Denerim now. Alistair put his hands on either side of Lyssa's face and looked down at her, trying to calm himself.

In a panic, he scooped Lyssa into his arms and then ran into the hallway with her.

"Gildre!" Alistair shouted out.

A moment later, Gildre came rushing out of his room. He was still fully clothed in his armor. When he saw Alistair holding Lyssa limp and unmoving, he began sprinting down the hall toward them.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Gildre asked as he reached them. He was looking down at Lyssa's unmoving face. Alistair didn't reply immediately, not wanting to give voice to his fear, afraid that would somehow make it real.

"It has happened again."


	11. Chapter 11 : A Call to Arms

_**Chapter 11 : A Call to Arms**_

Duncan was asleep in his tent when Andoral's soul returned to him. The sudden arrival of Andoral into Duncan's body jerked him awake. He clawed at the bed as he sat up, gasping, unable to catch his breath. After a few moments, once Andoral had settled in, Duncan allowed his mind to go to the fade.

He opened his eyes to see the familiar misty surroundings. He turned to find Andoral standing behind him. Andoral was tall and very muscular. He always reminded Duncan of very large Q'unari. His eyes were silver and shined eerily in the dim light of the fade. He had dark red hair that was pulled back. It was plaited into one thick braid that fell almost to his waist. He wore simple white robes and sandals with thick leather straps that criss-crossed up to his knees. Chains wound around his arms, the silver metal standing out in sharp relief against his tea-colored skin. Duncan took a few steps forward, stopping just before Andoral, and looked up into his eyes.

"I am sorry. I should have suspected this tactic," Andoral said flatly.

Duncan shrugged. "No harm done. She just knocked you out for a little over a day. We're still headed toward the thaig we suspect Urthemiel is hiding in. My body should hold out until then. We'll get there in time."

Andoral just stared down at Duncan.

Duncan narrowed his eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

Andoral crossed his arms, and Duncan could swear he saw anger flash in his eyes.

"Our mother," Andoral began then stopped.

The phrase alone coming from Andoral would have caused Duncan to pause; he could only recall Andoral referring to Lyssa as mother perhaps once before. Duncan wondered if the toll of supporting two consciousnesses had finally begun to affect the two of them more than usual. Duncan knew that sometimes his own thoughts and feelings crept into Andoral's mind unbidden, because Andoral's thoughts likewise floated into Duncan's own consciousness. But Andoral's influence was dominant most of the time. That was why Duncan's emotions always felt so muted that he rarely noticed them.

Will there really still be enough time to get there, Duncan wondered? Then this thought gave way to another. Andoral's tone when he had spoken, Duncan realized, had been agitated and uncertain. His concern over his own condition was quickly replaced with another.

"What?" Duncan asked gripping Andoral by his robes. "What about mother?"

"He has found her. When I was gone, I could not hide her from him. He found her, and brought her soul here, to Highever," Andoral said.

"Here," Duncan said mystified. Then the anger built within him.

"He has not... harmed her. Not yet. But it is only a matter of time before he will. He will not be able to control himself. He is uncleansed. The taint is there. Even in such a small amount, it is enough to cloud his mind. He will seek out her body so his control over her will be complete," Andoral said putting his hand on Duncan's shoulder and calming him.

"Morrigan, curse her," Duncan said.

"No. Do not blame the witch woman. This is my fault. I only wished to be free. If I had not pushed the woman Flemeth on this path, this would not have happened," Andoral said.

"You are too kind, Andoral. If it weren't for the evils of this world you would never have been captured in the first place. Come we cannot head straight to the thaig now. We must plan," Duncan said.

"We cannot go to your mother's body to protect it. It will take too long. You do not have that much time left," Andoral said simply.

Duncan laughed. "All this time sharing my body, and yet you still know nothing of me. We will not need to go to her body. Father will bring her body to us."

"How will he know where to bring her?" Andoral asked.

"That's what messenger birds are for, Andoral. Come, we can send one from Highever."

"Our father will want to know what we are doing here. We may have to tell him the truth."

"At this point, I think it is more important to move forward with the plan. We will have to alter it a little, as Urthemiel has already made the first move. It is time they both knew the truth. The plan will not work without mother in any case. I think it is time to ask for mother's help. I think it's time we returned some things," Duncan said.

"Agreed."

**

Gildre paced around the bedchamber as Jasper examined Lyssa. He felt frustrated and helpless. He couldn't even console Alistair for fear of upsetting Jasper. Gildre wished Jasper would leave, but as soon as he had heard Alistair's cry he had come to investigate. Alistair, wracked with panic, had led Jasper to Lyssa's body hoping the mage could do something. But Gildre was now in a bit of a spot. He didn't know how Jasper would react, coming so suddenly upon so many secrets that Gildre had helped to keep over the years.

Jasper pulled his hand back from Lyssa's forehead.

"Her body is here, but she is not. It is strange. It is not unlike the condition mages enter when they travel the fade during the Harrowing. It seems inconceivable, but I suspect she is in the fade," Jasper said frowning.

"How is that possible?" Alistair asked confused. "It takes blood magic or a whole lot of Lyrium and mages to go into the fade. And even then, only mages are supposed to be able to go."

"This is very powerful magic. I... sensed something earlier, but was unsure. For a moment I felt a very powerful presence forcing its way through the veil. I know of nothing that can do that. The veil protects us from demons and keeps us from being able to go into the fade," Jasper said.

"Duncan can do that... can't he?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Alistair looked up from Lyssa's body to see Connor standing there. Alistair stepped forward and hugged the young mage tightly.

"It has happened again, Connor. Same as before. We cannot wake her," Alistair said.

"I came as soon as I heard. We weren't far from shore when the messenger bird got to us," Connor said touching Alistair's arm.

"What do you mean Duncan can traverse the veil?" Jasper asked standing up.

Connor looked at Alistair who stared at the floor frowning. Alistair had long suspected he did not know everything about his son's abilities. When Duncan had managed to so quickly waken Lyssa before, when Connor could not, Alistair assumed there must be some power Duncan was hiding from him.

"It matters not. He was the one that stopped this the last time. He didn't drag Lyssa into the veil. He pulled her out," Gildre said staring at Alistair as he spoke.

Alistair raised his eyes to meet Gildre's. The room was silent for a moment as they all waited for Gildre to elaborate.

"What do you know of this," Alistair asked coldly.

Gildre sighed and crossed his arms. He felt his heart break at the sound in Alistair's voice, "I promised Lyssa I would not tell you. She said it was important you did not know... unless it ever happened again. She told me she had been pulled into the fade by... an Old God," Gildre finished. Gildre looked at Jasper, hoping he wouldn't make him elaborate.

Alistair stared at Gildre for a moment before he leaned heavily onto the bed. He dropped down next to Lyssa and touched her face, a look of horror plastered on his own. The color drained from his skin and he touched Lyssa's hand.

"Maker's mercy what have we done," Alistair whispered.

Jasper was staring at Alistair intensely. "So are you planning to enlighten us, Gildre, as to why an Old God is loose again in the world, and what Alistair and Lyssa have to do with it?" Jasper asked icily.

Connor raised his hand in Jasper's direction and quickly chanted something. Jasper went still, his whole body as stiff as if made of stone. He was frozen just at the moment of opening his mouth to speak again, his hand held up and a finger pointing at Gildre. Connor walked forward and touched Alistair's shoulder.

"Alistair, I can only hold Jasper immutable like this for so long. Please be candid and please speak quickly," Connor said.

Alistair looked up at Jasper and then back to Connor before he sighed heavily and put his head in his hands.

"The night before we defeated the archdemon, Morrigan came to Lyssa. She said she could perform a ritual that would save both our lives," Alistair said.

"You're talking about the final sacrifice Riordan made," Connor said confused.

"No. Riordan fell before the archdemon was slain. I was the one who plunged my blade into the archdemon's heart," Alistair said.

Connor looked over at Gildre who was still looking at the ground guiltily.

"This ritual," Connor asked turning back to Alistair, "What exactly did it entail?"

"I had to lie with Morrigan. She... became pregnant with a child that had the taint. I don't know about the ritual she performed other than my part in it, and that it worked. Lyssa and I both lived. But now we are paying the price for our selfishness," Alistair said bitterly.

Connor put his chin in his hand.

"So, the soul of the archdemon went into the newly formed child in Morrigan's belly. Interesting. It does not sound like blood magic exactly. But it does sound a little like something I read about a while back when I was perusing some old Tevinter tomes. That new castle mage Duncan found, she brought them with her. It is old magic, and that Morrigan would know it is no surprise to me. From what I heard of Morrigan from your companions, she practiced many older magics. And her mother, likely practiced arts even older. I wonder... The Old Gods are not supposed to have been malevolent. They were worshiped much the way the Maker is worshiped now. It has always been said that it is the taint that makes them archdemons, and the taint is the evil of man, not the evil of the gods. So why would an Old God take Lyssa into the fade?"

"I asked her about that. Lyssa told me that the Old God wanted to use her to hurt Duncan, that it was easier for the Old God to attack her than to attack Duncan," Gildre said.

Alistair was still in shock and said nothing. Connor looked at Gildre and walked toward him, touching Jasper on the head as he passed. A red stream of magic passed from Connor's fingertips into Jasper's head.

"Why would an Old God care about Duncan?" Connor asked.

"Duncan has sworn to destroy him," Gildre said.

"Him? I had another... son?" Alistair asked raising his head.

"Alistair," Connor said soothingly, "he is not your son. Likely as not, whatever child that had begun in Morrigan was quickly subsumed by the Old God. The Old God would probably not even view you, or Morrigan for that matter, as a parent. He would probably just think of you as a thing, a door back into this realm. I know you want to blame yourself for this whole mess, but when it comes to Gods, well let's just say demons can only dream of having that much power. Your choices may not have been your own."

"No. I know what I chose," Alistair said lifting Lyssa into his lap and holding her body close to his, "and I do not regret the choice. I only regret not doing something about it before now. I should have hunted my son down long ago. I should have, but I chose not to. The idea of hunting down and killing my own... I chose to ignore it, pretend it never happened. This is the price of that decision."

Alistair looked defeated as he continued to speak. "She tries to protect me from these things. She blames herself for the decision we made so long ago. But it wasn't her decision in the end. And she would not pressure me to do it. Morrigan did that quite effectively. I loathe her for it... and I thank her for it. Not a day goes by when I don't look down upon Lyssa's sleeping face and remember Morrigan's ritual. I would not be here were it not for that vile woman. There would be no Theirin on the throne. Who knows, maybe the Chantry would be in charge of Ferelden by now. I refuse to look back on my life and regret the time I had with her. I have paid my debt. She has paid hers. This was not part of the bargain. Morrigan assured me of that. I believed her."

Alistair stood up with Lyssa in his arms. "A mistake I plan to remedy. How do we find this Old God and take Lyssa back from him?"

Connor thought for a moment. "Well, our best bet would be to find Duncan. He was able to bring Lyssa back from the fade before, so he should be able to do it again. Why that is I still don't know. He is no mage. Even if he were, getting past the veil at will... Let us sail for Ferelden. We will get nothing more accomplished here," Connor said.

Gildre looked at Jasper's petrified form and then back to Connor.

"He won't remember this conversation. He'll remember Lyssa was ill, and nothing more. If you wish to tell him, feel free. But I didn't think he would be particularly helpful at this juncture. He holds no allegiance to the former King and Queen. And his vitriol for you, Gildre, was not adding anything helpful to the discussion," Connor said.

Connor left the room with Alistair close behind. Gildre watched as Jasper's body seemed to come to life. Jasper looked down at his pointing finger in confusion. He looked up at Gildre and opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

"Come on. Now that Connor's here were headed back to Denerim with Lyssa. Unless... you don't want to go," Gildre asked hoping his voice didn't give away his wish.

"Denerim? Fine. Whatever. In fact, great," Jasper said.

"You planning on returning to your family then... when we get there?" Gildre asked.

"Yes. Sounds like an excellent idea," Jasper said scowling.

"I'm sorry I brought you back here. I should have let you be. I never meant to hurt you," Gildre began.

"I've heard this song before, sing a new one why don't you. Next time, try to add a little sincerity." Jasper said turning to leave.

Gildre watched the door to Alistair's bedchamber swing shut.

"Can this day get any worse?"

**

Alistair was setting Lyssa down on the bed in the Captain's cabin when he heard a ruckus out on deck. He walked out to the deck and peered into the dark night to see a lumbering giant approaching him.

"Is there something wrong, Sten?" Alistair asked.

Sten came into view frowning and crossing his arms, "You know I am now Kithshok."

"Oh... right, sorry, I forgot," Alistair said.

"I reminded you earlier today," Sten said.

"Sorry... again. A lot has happened you see," Alistair began.

"Yes. This is why I am not angry you forgot to ask me to come with you," Sten said.

"Uh... Oh! Sten... I mean, but you are Kithshok. Are you really allowed to go running off with the ex-king and queen of Ferelden on what is surely to be a suicide mission to destroy an Old God?" Alistair asked raising his eyebrow.

"This is what you are doing?" Sten asked.

"Yup. Killing an Old God. Or trying to at least," Alistair said playfully punching Sten in the arm.

Sten looked at Alistair for a moment, and then a grin split the giant's face.

"I have never killed a god before. I think I will enjoy it," Sten said.

"Great, glad to have you on board. But don't you have to tell Arishok?"

"No. He will want to share in the killing. There is only room for one Q'unari on this quest," Sten said defiantly.

"But Dread and Bigfoot are already here," Alistair said.

"We will send them on an errand when the time comes," Sten said.

Alistair chuckled. His spirit lifted a little while he stood by his old friend. Sten left and headed up toward the helm of the ship. Alistair started to head back into the captain's cabin when a bird hit the side of his head.

"Ow!" Alistair said as he leaned down to pick up the pigeon. It had knocked itself out running into Alistair.

"You shouldn't be flying at night," Alistair said carefully holding the dazed bird.

He looked at its leg and peeled off a small piece of paper there. He rolled the tiny scroll open carefully and read the message written on it.

**_Father, meet me in Highever. Bring Mother. Duncan._**

"Highever?" Alistair asked aloud.

Alistair brought the bird up to the cages on the main deck and deposited it safely there. He stroked it a couple of times to make sure it could stand on its perch before he closed the cage door. He walked up to the helm where Connor was standing with Sten.

"I wish we could call up the wind now, but sailing in the dark is dangerous enough as it is. We really shouldn't be sailing blind at a hundred knots," Connor said anticipating Alistair's request.

"Actually, I just got this," Alistair said handing the tiny scroll to Connor.

"Someone got a messenger bird to fly at night? That's a good enchantment," Connor said in awe.

"Yeah well, it apparently ran out just before the bird crashed into my head," Alistair said rubbing the side of his skull.

Connor studied the slip of paper for a moment. "This is Duncan's writing. And," Connor closed his eyes and mumbled something under his breath, "he did write it, as far as I can tell. It has the hidden mark we taught him to use."

"Then we sail to Highever," Alistair said.

Sten nodded as he maneuvered the boat out onto the water. Alistair headed back down into the captain's cabin and got into bed next to Lyssa. He undressed and wrapped himself around her cold body, hoping his own body heat would keep her warm.

"I don't know if this will help you at all, wherever you are, but we're coming. Hold on, my love, we're coming," Alistair said as he pressed against Lyssa.


	12. Chapter 12 : Last Words

_**Chapter 12 : Last Words**_

The hammocks were swaying back and forth with the motion of the ship. Gildre stared at the ceiling as it moved left and right above him. He knew Jasper was fast asleep in the hammock underneath him from the small snoring noise that came up. The noise had been keeping Gildre awake, but now he found his eyes drooping shut.

He snapped them open again at a sudden sound in the room. Someone was singing softly. A woman. Gildre got out of his hammock carefully, trying not to step on Jasper in the process. The only woman on board the ship at the moment was Lyssa, and as far as Gildre knew, she was still out cold. Gildre crept up the stairs to the deck. The singing was louder up here. He wondered briefly if he was going to see a siren of the old tales. He looked up to the helm to see if Sten was hearing the noise too, but no one was there.

Gildre frowned.

Someone is always at the helm, he thought.

He looked around again searching for the source of the singing. The sky around the ship began to lighten. Gildre didn't seem to notice the thick fog rolling in around him. He held his hand out in front of his face as he walked toward the singing. He saw a long pale woman's leg poke through the fog. As he walked closer to the sound, he was able to make out a beautiful lady sitting on the ship's railing, singing out to the sea. She was completely naked, though most of her womanly bits were covered by something. Her dark hair fell down and managed to just cover her nipples, and she held a small harp over her loins.

When she turned her golden eyes to Gildre she smiled warmly.

"I'm so glad I found you. I have been searching for a while. Who knew you would be back here," Morrigan said strumming her harp.

"Morrigan?" Gildre asked astonished.

"Yes. I know, the harp. Tis a bit much, but give a girl a break. I've been haunting the fade for almost four years now searching for you. I should get a tiny bit of leeway," Morrigan said.

"Is that really you?" Gildre asked reaching out to touch her. Her skin felt real enough.

"What do you think? You think Morrigan, witch of the wilds, would be caught dead... oh... well I guess tis really me. Actually, tis a memory of me, a ghost if you will. Is this what you would have dreamt about? A siren? Really? I thought you fancied men?" Morrigan said looking down at herself.

"Well, I do... but sirens are female, aren't they? And I like the old tales of them. Leliana sang of them often enough, it's a wonder I haven't dreamed of them before," Gildre said smiling. Then he realized where he was. "I'm in the fade then?"

"Dreaming, but yes. You are safe and sound in your little hammock," Morrigan said leaning on her harp.

"Then... why are you here? You said you were looking for me? I can't see why. I mean, I supposed we got on well enough, but I never desired you, if that's what you were thinking," Gildre said.

Morrigan laughed. "Oh dear, that was wonderful. Haven't done that in a while. Why ever would you think I'd seek you out for a roll in the hay?"

Gildre shrugged. "Because I'm so handsome and daring?"

"Shall I say touché to make you happy?" Morrigan asked smiling.

"Not necessary. Why are you here?" Gildre asked again.

"I need to tell you something," Morrigan said, "you are not the person I wanted to speak with, but I figured wherever you are, she'll be close by."

"This is about Lyssa," Gildre said suddenly becoming serious. "What have you done?"

"I have done nothing. In fact, I am quite confident I have spent the last four years basking in the sun. If I could have done something, I would have. But it was too late for me more than nineteen years ago I'm afraid," Morrigan said strumming her harp once again.

"Why must you speak in riddles?" Gildre asked angrily.

"I'm sorry, Gildre. I am a ghost who has lingered a bit too long I'm afraid. Bear with me. Tis lucky you see me at all. I spent every last ounce of my power to send this message to you. But tis not as clear as it once was. Give me a moment, and I shall recall it," Morrigan said strumming her harp.

Gildre leaned up against the railing and looked out towards the sea. All he could see was mist. He turned back to Morrigan impatiently as she strummed her harp.

"I will tell you an old tale," Morrigan said strumming again, "of a young woman who wanted nothing more than the love of her mother. A mother who never showed any signs of affection. This young girl was given a task. She was to acquire the soul of an Old God. The young girl believed completing this task would make her an equal in her mother's eyes. Finally, she would get the love and respect she desired.

"But something happened along the way to fetch this soul. The woman found love where she did not expect it. It changed the young woman somehow, though she did not know it. When the young woman returned to her mother, her mother was indeed pleased. She spoke of the things they would do together, mother and daughter. But about six months later, the young woman began to hear a voice in her head. The voice was beautiful, and sensuous. The voice promised love forevermore. The voice promised to give the young woman what she truly sought, the love of another who had left her for an unworthy man. The young woman began to trust the voice.

"When the voice told her that her mother planned to kill her, planned to take the soul of the old god within the young woman for herself, the young woman panicked. The voice within her told her exactly what to do. A ritual, complicated and old. All the young woman needed to do was trick her mother into entering the circle, the ruins. Then the voice told her, she would be free of her mother's trickery.

"So the young woman did as she was told, and when her mother entered the circle, she perished, releasing that which was within her," Morrigan said as she continued to strum.

"This is great and all, but what does this have to do with Lyssa?" Gildre asked impatiently.

"I'm getting there you sot! Do you interrupt the bards at court?" Morrigan asked testily.

"No, but they usually sing. You're doing some weird spoken word thing. It's not nearly as interesting to listen to," Gildre said crossing his arms.

"You are such a child in the fade. I liked you better on the other side of the veil," Morrigan said simply.

"The feeling is mutual. Can we get on with it? I don't know how much longer I'll be asleep," Gildre said.

"Oh fine. The young woman waited for the voice to be born. When he was, she cherished him in his physical form. She was the mother she always wanted for herself," Morrigan said sadly.

"You know, for someone who doesn't like Alistair, you sound an awful lot like him, parent issues, spoiling your child to make up for your parent issues, you both love the same woman, you both hate sleeping with each other," Gildre began ticking off his fingers.

"One more word and this harp goes over your head," Morrigan said angrily.

"There you are. All this wistful dreamy stuff was making me worried. I had to be sure it was really you in there," Gildre said laughing.

Morrigan scowled at him but turned back to her harp and strummed it again, "I'm beginning to wonder why I liked you... the young woman took the child god everywhere, showing him the magic of the world. But she found the child growing restless. He only wished to know about the whereabouts of the one his mother loved, the one she called sister. The young woman found the child god slipping into the fade, seeking her beloved out. It frightened the young woman. She began to watch the child god more closely, began to mistrust the things he said. Despite all she did, the child god slipped away from her from time to time. He would disappear for months at a time. The young woman had to force herself to stop looking at the god as a child. He was truly a man.

"Then came the time she heard news of her sister, and she went to help. The Old God was off, and he would not notice the young woman's absence. But when the young woman returned, she knew she had made a fatal error. The Old God was there, waiting for her. He was fascinated with his flesh mother. He said the light of her sister clung to the young woman. He could feel it, he could taste it. He wanted to know how the young woman had found her sister so easily. When the young woman did not tell him... she was taken," Morrigan said.

Gildre watched as Morrigan's face went blank. The harp fell silent. Gildre reached out and touched Morrigan's arm. Morrigan looked up and a melancholy smile crossed her face.

"I once advised someone never to fall in love. That love was a fool's belief. I was wrong. Love was the only thing that truly brought me happiness. During the four years I was trapped in the Old God's hell... it was love that helped me survive. He would never have found out about it... I could have lasted hundreds of years on the power of that simple emotion alone. But when the pain and the humiliation did not wear me down, he tore into my mind. He ripped it from me. I was barely able to send this out when he was done. My mind was destroyed completely. Flesh mother or no, he did not care," Morrigan said.

She reached out and put her hand on top of Gildre's, "He will do whatever he must to keep her. Remember that. He has become obsessed, single minded. She is the last thing he saw before the corrupted form he wore before perished. The taint, it has destroyed his sense of reason. I learned too late that I did not have the power to cleanse him. It is a thing I did not understand. He is very powerful. Neither you, nor that fool of a man can stop him. But he fears two things, his brother and losing her. He cannot know where she is. Even if he takes her mind, her body must remain hidden from him.

"You must get rid of the ring, Gildre. The information in my mind, he might not know yet, but he will. He will sort the thoughts, he will find the ring, and he will use it. If he finds her body, he will take it from you. Then you will have no hope of saving her. If he has the body, he can preserve her life. He can force her to live here with him as long as he likes. If things become dire, you must kill her. You cannot let her live trapped in his mind," Morrigan said.

Her fingers gripped Gildre's like a vice as she let the harp drop and stood.

"How can you ask me to do that? Alistair... he would never forgive me!" Gildre said trying to pull away.

"You must kill her before he finds her body. You cannot let her stay there!" Morrigan screeched, "You do not know the horrors he will visit upon her if she does not submit. Alistair would never forgive himself if he let it happen. You must promise to do this for her, Gildre!"

Gildre stared at Morrigan aghast and nodded. Morrigan let his hand go. Her arms dropped to her sides and she began to become diaphanous.

"My message has been delivered, and accepted. If you... by chance see her again. Tell her goodbye for me. And tell her... I am sorry. This was not what I intended," Morrigan said.

Gildre watched as Morrigan became mist and floated away. He looked down and picked up her harp. It crumbled to dust in his hand.

Gildre started awake in his hammock. He winced in pain and looked down at his hand. There was a distinct pattern of delicate finger marks there. He rubbed the bruises gingerly and hopped out of his hammock. He jogged up to the deck and stopped outside of the Captain's cabin. He tapped quietly on the door. When no one answered he pushed the door open slowly. He saw Alistair curled around Lyssa's body.

Gildre tiptoed into the room and went to Lyssa's side of the bed. He looked at her right hand and lifted the little finger. He carefully removed the tiny ring there and lowered the hand. He moved back out of the room as silently as he could.

Once on the deck, Gildre walked over to the railing he had seen in his dream. He touched the spot where Morrigan had been sitting. He felt a tear come to his eye as he thought of her. In her dying moments, all she could think about was saving Lyssa. She used the last of her strength to make sure Lyssa would never have to go through the pain she went through.

Gildre held the tiny ring in his hand for a moment before raising back his arm and flinging it out into the sea. He stared at the place he imagined it fell as the boat continued to move away from Seheron. He looked out over the horizon and could see the stars fading as the first of the morning light touched them. For a moment, he could swear he heard a harp playing.


	13. Chapter 13 : Gods and Monsters

_**Chapter 13 : Gods and Monsters  
**_

Lyssa held Alistair's amulet in her hand. This at least was still here in the fade, she thought. She did not know why the amulet existed here; every time she brought up Alistair or anything remotely to do with him, Urthemiel became enraged. She could only imagine that he must not have been able to keep her from having this one thing. Lyssa had cherished the amulet of Andraste for so long it was a part of her now, even more than her armor or blades.

Lyssa found that she could leave Urthemiel's side from time to time without him noticing. She wasn't certain why, although she had her suspicions, but every now and then Urthemiel would become completely still, and would remain unmoving and insensate for minutes or even hours at a time. Lyssa guessed that he must either be doing something with his physical body back in the real world, or that he was concentrating his attention on some other part of the fade. Whatever it was, it was extremely taxing, and his concentration could not remain focused on their part of the fade to watch over her at all times.

Even gods must have their limits, Lyssa thought.

She didn't even bother trying to engage Urthemiel in conversation when he attempted to touch her anymore. At first she had been chatty, hoping it would distract the god. But Urthemiel always brought the conversation back to how much he loved Lyssa and how he was going to cherish her forever. She also did her best not to look at him directly when they spoke. There was something compelling about him; if she looked on him when he spoke to her, it triggered something inside her—a tiny surge of happiness that he wanted her attention. The strange sensation, almost a compulsion, was always immediately followed by a thought; she had only ever felt this way for one person, and a vision of Alistair would burst forth in her mind. Urthemiel could sense this. Whenever he was wooing her, he seemed to know the instant her thoughts ran to Alistair. He would become furious, sometimes even tearing up great chunks of ground and hurling them into the sky. They sailed high up, so far that they appeared as tiny specs in the sky before they finally disappeared from view. So Lyssa kept quiet. She responded to Urthemiel's questions with simple one word answers; doing the absolute minimum she could to humor him.

But when his mind was away from his body, Lyssa took full advantage and explored this strange new part of the fade. Duncan had told her a little about this area, so she was able to recognize it from his description. Unlike the normal phantasmal dreamy quality of the rest of the fade, this looked just like the real world. Except that the people here weren't normal. It had taken her some time before she had finally seen anyone here so far out in the country. But eventually, she began to notice them around from time to time. They weren't as real as the rest of this world. They flickered in and out of existence here, like strange apparitions flashing in stop motion around her, appearing completely real and solid for less than a second, and then reappearing momentarily again seconds or minutes later.

Lyssa was currently taking advantage of another of Urthemiel's periods of obliviousness, marching purposefully away from him. If she was where she guessed in the real world, then she knew a village that lie just a few hills away. It was a small village, out of the way, but Lyssa had visited it a few times. It was the place she retrieved Adley from when he had still been a boy. Lyssa saw the small village on the horizon. She turned around to make sure Urthemiel wasn't following her and, satisfied, she began jogging toward the village.

When Lyssa arrived in the small village, she spotted the house that Adley had been staying at when she came to take him to the castle. Adley's aunt's house was small, but cozy. It was a charming clay brick house with windows on the front. Lyssa could see the little yellow flowers that Adley's aunt had put in boxes just outside the window.

Lyssa jogged up to the door, and opened it slowly. When she stepped inside, she could see no one. The air was very still; not a single sound could be heard aside from Lyssa's footsteps. She found the sensation extremely chilling. She took a few steps into the house, and the furnishings of the cottage suddenly flickered, like the people did. It was the same house in both flickering versions, but one version had the furniture strewn about and everything covered with blood and gore. As the horrific version flashed back into view again, Lyssa looked down at feet, and was appalled.

Something caught her attention just then, at the corner of her eye. She looked up just as the normal version of the cottage replaced the horrific one. She took a breath and steadied herself as she kept looking at the now empty space and waited. Then the versions swapped again, and she was looking at the mutilated body of Adley's aunt. The corpse flickered in and out of existence for a moment, and then became disturbingly, undeniably solid and real. She approached it slowly, her hand clasped over her mouth. She bent down and attempted to roll the woman over to get a better look. She wasn't sure it would work, but even in the fade, sometimes inanimate things could be touched and effect the real world. Lyssa thought that perhaps, since the woman was clearly dead and thus inanimate, she might be able to interact with the body. It wasn't an easy or pleasant chore, as every few seconds the body would disappear and Lyssa would need to remain crouched, poised and ready to catch the body as it flickered back into existence so she could continue to shift it, before it flickered out again. It was painstaking and unpleasant, but Lyssa had to be sure.

Adley's aunt had obviously been tortured. The skin on her chest had been removed to expose the ribs and other organs underneath. but not brutally as with a sword or ax. Her flesh had been removed very precisely, more akin to something a butcher would do than a soldier. There was very little blood around the body, and this disturbed Lyssa. She suspected that the poor woman had been kept immobile and alive by a very powerful magic. Lyssa bent to cover the woman up with a shawl. It was then she noticed the woman's fingers had all been flayed to the bone. Lyssa felt her stomach heave. She stood up abruptly, stepping away from the figure. The woman had clawed out a message on the floor with the tip of the bone of her index finger, the only one she had with any significant amount of flesh left clinging to it. The word was barely legible; "run."

Lyssa moved to leave the house to find Urthemiel standing in the doorway, looking sadly down at the woman. Lyssa backed away from him slowly, not wanting to touch him.

"If the flesh mother had only been more helpful, this would not have been necessary. The flesh mother and her loyalties," Urthemiel scoffed.

"You mean Morrigan," Lyssa said tentatively.

"Yes. She was the flesh mother. Her mind... I am still sorting through the pieces. I will find the secret she was hiding. She was so deliberate, memorizing all the minutia of her travels, sorting the facts away in her mind in her secret code, storing all her most important thoughts in with obscure references to plant and animal life," Urthemiel said sighing. "It must have come from a life of trying to hide her thoughts from the mortal Flemeth."

He turned to Lyssa then. The next moment, he was beside her. He hadn't moved a muscle, but seemed to glide across the floor to her. He raised his hands to either side of Lyssa's face as if warming them on a fire and inhaled deeply, a very satisfied smile on his face.

"She loved you, but then there's no surprise in that. She was foolish to try me as she did, it was futile. I have the time I need now. I have all her thoughts, everything she's ever known, and she can do nothing to stop me anymore," Urthemiel stepped around Lyssa and walked to the body still flickering in and out of existence. "But at least she saw me for what I am. These ones, they are so foolish. Abomination, they call me. Demon."

Urthemiel whirled and faced Lyssa, a petulant look on his face, "Me? A god of beauty? Something as perfect and flawless as I, a demon? I pity these fool mortals. Once, they knew me for what I am, and they flocked to me in worship. My festivals lasted for weeks. They all sang and rejoiced in my presence."

Urthemiel stretched his hands up into the air and smiled. The whole room suddenly filled with a beautiful light. Lyssa felt her breath catch as Urthemiel started to glow from within, filling her up with awe and wonder. Then he slowly lowered his hands, watching Lyssa.

"Yes, you warrior of light, you can see still see it. The rest of the world has lost the ability. So sad," Urthemiel said, his glow subsiding.

He leaned down and brushed a lock of hair off of the dead woman's cheek. "I saw you in her mind. She knew of you. Tis a pity her nephew was not here. I could see in her mind that he is very close to you."

Urthemiel touched the woman's cheek and she stopped flickering in and out of the fade for a moment. He held his finger against her skin and she remained solid, as if he was pinning her to the fade.

"She had extremely amusing things to say about you. 'You are blessed by the Maker' she said," Urthemiel laughed, still poking the woman. Lyssa could feel the sound of his laughter echo in her bones. Lyssa was disturbed to discover the sensation was appealing.

"The Maker... Oh my brother had a way with theatrics. Such a name he chose for the mortals to call him. A clever one indeed, my brother. The one word, indicating something that he would never dare to claim," Urthemiel smiled at the memory, then his face became dark and troubled.

"Then he found his guide, and he fled with her. He left us behind, trapped far under the ground, in prisons he had tricked us into. He didn't even bother to clean up the mess he had made of the world before he left, leaving us at the mercy of chance. His stories and myths... all the mortals confused. To think of all the wars that were waged because of his passing beyond this world, not to mention what he did to us… We were foolish to trust him. Foolish to trust the god of tongues, the god of words and persuasion. But we did. And he left us to the evil." Urthemiel stood up, lifting his finger from the woman's cheek. She immediately flickered out of existence again. Urthemiel strode over to Lyssa and placed his hands on her cheeks. Lyssa felt her skin warm impossibly under the contact, and her face began to tingle, but she did not pull back. She had learned that resisting him only served to make Urthemiel agitated, and she worried what he might do in that state as she saw the body flicker back into view behind Urthemiel.

"He was right though. The mortals are not worth saving. Even after all the years I spent underground, I wake to find them all still trudging along the same inevitable path. Still killing and enslaving each other. Still inviting demons into their bodies," Urthemiel stalked away from Lyssa. He lashed out at the wall with one fist, and the wall exploded under the force, a several foot wide section of the wall gaping, dust swirling around his outstretched arm. The fields of Highever were visible through the haze of the dust. Urthemiel tossed his hands up into the air above his head, and suddenly, the entire top of the house blasted up into the air, disappearing off to the left for several seconds before Lyssa heard the loud thud of it landing out in the field more than half a mile away. Lyssa took a nervous step back.

"The ones we taught the rudiments of magic to, that was the start of it all going wrong. What we taught them wasn't good enough," Urthemiel hissed, "No... they needed more. Thought if they could access the realm beyond themselves, that they could become like us, or more than us. That they would cast us down and rule as gods themselves. Foolish. Gods are not created, they are born."

Urthemiel sat down on a small stool and put his head in his hands. "We learned that the hard way. We were just as foolish as they were in our own way, blind to the obvious truth. Magic would never cleanse them. They are not like you, the mortals. You warriors of light are more like us. Not immortal, no, but with a power not even the gods themselves have access to," Urthemiel said looking up at Lyssa.

"Me?" Lyssa asked dumbfounded, "I am no god, or mage. I have no power. I am nothing but a woman."

"No. You are far more than all of those things, yet you never suspected. It is not in your nature to see yourself as better, it is in your very being to be humble and to see them as more important than you, to live your life in service to a bunch of undeserving mortals. The one you call Andraste, she was just like you. She didn't know her worth either. But even though neither of you really understood what you were, you managed to find others like you, you clever little things. And without even realizing it, you took your proper place in the order of things again, though you still don't understand the part you have to play in all this. It matters not, though. As always, it is the mages who are fowling the world again. It is the price we will always pay for our foolishness I suppose," Urthemiel said sadly.

"Are you talking about the darkspawn?" Lyssa asked. "Is it true then, what they say about the mages creating the darkspawn?"

Urthemiel laughed again. "Is that what the mortals are saying now? They truly have no humility, the mortals, do they? Even the gods themselves would never take credit for such a thing."

Urthemiel stood and walked to Lyssa. Lyssa was beginning to realize Urthemiel had a strange dichotomy within him. At times, he was extremely lucid, and Lyssa could easily see him as a benevolent god. But his mood could change so quickly, and his calm inviting amber eyes could change in a flash to those of uncontrollable anger.

But right now, his demeanor wasn't one of rage and madness. Smashing the house to pieces seemed to have quelled the angry part of him. He seemed reflective and calm. When he was like this, Lyssa found she did not feel as uncomfortable with him. At times, he would be like that, calm and alluring, for an hour or more. At those times she found she didn't even mind how close he remained and how he constantly touched her. When he was in this lucid state, the way he stroked Lyssa's hair and face seemed tender and respectful, and not lustful and threatening. There was nothing sexual about it. It was when she could see the lust in his eyes that Urthemiel frightened her to the core. Then his slightest touch made her tremble with chills.

At the moment, Urthemiel was calmed. He seemed to enjoy talking about the past. Lyssa decided this was a safe topic and tried to steer the conversation along that path.

Urthemiel touched Lyssa's face again smiling, then he stepped away looking out at the grassy fields beyond the destroyed house.

"Ever has there been evil. We did not create it. If that which created us created evil, then he is a god I never wish to meet. There is evil, and there is you. Both have existed since time began. They are the balance of existence. There has always been light, and there has always been dark. It was such before we existed and will remain so after we are all gone. The darkspawn have always been here, in one form or another. Men have given them a form that they can take by stealing the flesh of the mortals, and they have made them more powerful, as they steal strength in the process. But they have always lurked in the shadows of the world, even before the dawn of man. They despise anything beautiful and pure, anything that lacks the taint of evil. They hunt it down and kill it, if they can. They live in a perpetual state of anger and hate and pain. Anything that is good or beautiful is painful for them to behold, because it reminds them that the darkness they are made from will never bring them peace or joy. They also despise things of power, because they have none. A single darkspawn is a pathetic, useless thing. Yet power calls to them. They sense it from far off, forever driving them to find it. When they do find it, they will do whatever they can to bend it to their will. They will not rest until they have the power to stamp out all the purity in the world. It was another great folly that we did not recognize this. We thought we were protected," Urthemiel said.

"Protected... from the taint?" Lyssa asked.

"No. Only pure light can resist the taint. All others fall before it. We are not of pure light, merely pure enough to attract the attention and rage of the darkspawn. But we do have much power, and we believed we could keep the evil at bay with that alone," Urthemiel said. His voice became rich with melancholy as he spoke turning to look at Lyssa.

"Peitho fell first. I truly believe that now. Andraste must have cleansed him with her light. We did not suspect. Well, most of us did not suspect. Dumat was the exception. He openly accused Pietho of being corrupted. But then, Dumat suddenly disappeared. I wondered what could have befallen him, and I did finally find out—when Peitho took me underground, when he trapped me as well. And then I fell... when they found me...," Urthemiel let the thought trail away.

"It must have been hard for you, being corrupted so," Lyssa said.

"When corrupted, the mind can no longer make connections. We wish to kill and destroy. Especially the light. The light most of all. With the taint, you were easy to find. All of you. That is the hardest part of all. The only thing that can lead us on, take us to Plenarius... once corrupted we find we can think of nothing but destroying it. It is poetic injustice," Urthemiel said putting his hand at the base of his neck.

"Can you stop them? The darkspawn I mean. From finding the rest... of your brothers and sisters?" Lyssa asked.

"There are only two left sleeping. And I cannot find them. But given enough time, I may be able to wake them," Urthemiel said.

Lyssa hesitated to ask, for fear she might send Urthemiel back into his unpredictable state, but she wanted to know.

"You... spoke of Morrigan. Is she... dead then?"

"The flesh mother. She stole me from my path. She thought to harness my power for herself with the old magics she knew. But I do not blame her. I now know why she did this thing. It was in the fragments I have been sorting through. She did not see it, but it is apparent to me. Her actions were not of her own design," Urthemiel said.

Lyssa stared at her hands for a moment before asking again, "and... she is dead?"

Urthemiel turned to face Lyssa and his eyes were completely impassive as he spoke, "She was loyal to you. There were many days like this," Urthemiel said gesturing down to the body of Adley's aunt, "But she did not yield. Her flesh was not weak, so I went into her mind. Her love for you is strong. I grew tired of trying. I broke her mind apart into smaller pieces and then I took them, one by one, from her. She did not survive the process. But... even in death she defies me. She has very cleverly hidden her most important thoughts away, like where I might find your flesh. But I am close now, close to finding the right piece."

Lyssa felt a chill run down her spine as she looked down at the tortured woman Urthemiel had so casually compared to Morrigan. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to swallow, failing. Her throat was too dry.

"Why do you need... my body," Lyssa asked.

"I can preserve you if I have the flesh. If your body dies, so does your mind. You will pass from here into the next realm. And... we cannot partake in the pleasures of the flesh here in the fade, not fully and truly," Urthemiel said walking toward Lyssa.

Lyssa saw his eyes shift and become predatorial. She took a step back. She shook her head and spoke as firmly as she could muster.

"You said you would not force me. I do not wish to do anything of the sort," Lyssa said.

Urthemiel stopped just short of Lyssa, the gap between them so narrow it was almost nonexistent. His nose a hair's breadth away from hers, he wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tightly against him. She could feel his hot breath travel across her skin, like a warm silken sheet pulled across it, and she shivered. Urthemiel lowered his mouth toward her ear. It felt to Lyssa as if the minuscule, soft hairs there were actually reaching out to touch his lips as he spoke. His voice was a physical thing, dripping in warm splashes down her neck and seeking out the sensitive skin along her spine.

"I won't have to," he said running his hands down Lyssa's arms. "You have not seen a god in the flesh before. When you do, I assure you, you will resist no longer."

_**: Gods and Monsters**_


	14. Chapter 14 : Wages of War

_**Chapter 14 : Wages of War**_

Duncan found the tiny village of Chocksley, Adley's home, deserted. The village had been named after the farmer who had the foresight to build a strip of homes along the single road that ran through the farms sprawling to either side of it for its entire length. The village was composed of only a dozen or so houses, right in the middle of a sea of farmland that extended out to the horizon in every direction. The wheat in the fields blended in with the tall grasses native to the Highever plains so closely that was hard to tell cultivated land from open plains. The bucolic vision was starkly contrasted by the smell of death that permeated the village. Duncan had sensed the darkspawn upon entering the small village.

Duncan had snuck away late the night before. The unit of Grey Wardens he had been traveling with had been easy to get away from. He simply walked off late that evening, leading his horse away from camp while evading the notice of the single groggy guard on duty. He had hoped he might evade Wynne as well, but the Mabari had hopped up and begun following him silently the moment he had approached his horse. He was worried that if he came upon Urthemiel on his way to Highever, that the Old God would slaughter the Wardens, and that even an animal like Wynne or his horse might attract his unwanted attention. Duncan was determined not to let his brother kill any more if he could avoid it.

Duncan climbed down from his horse and walked down the lone street through the center of Chocksley. Wynne ran ahead of him, darting from one side of the road to the other, sniffing at the ground. She looked back and up at Duncan. As he approached her she lowered her head to his feet and let out a low, sad whine. Duncan could see from the thick layer of silt that faded up the sides of the homes that this was normally a dusty little road, but right now the morning dew was still settled heavily on the ground, making the dirt damp and sticky.

Duncan walked up to the house nearest to him and stared up at it. The roof had been ripped or blasted away. He could see it resting in a field of wheat about a half mile away, a deep wide gouge of freshly tilled earth trailing out behind it, pointing back in the direction of the house.

As Duncan entered the house, the thick cloud of flies buzzing around became instantly agitated, the air so thick with them Duncan couldn't see through to the far wall. Wynne stood just outside at the door. She began barking into the house after Duncan, but she would not enter. Like the flies, she could smell the death in the air. Despite the overpowering smell, the flies floated about aimlessly, unable to find the source of the strong scent of carrion. Waving his hand before him, Duncan pushed out with his mind, and the flies were thrown out the open ceiling and high above into the air.

Now that their air was cleared, Duncan saw the dead body untouched and undisturbed on the ground, the heavy scent of magic still clinging to the glistening flesh. The magic had slowed the decay, and the woman, Duncan knew this must be Adley's aunt, looked as if she had died just minutes ago. Duncan walked through the doorway and stopped a moment, touching the frame. His mother had been here, in this place in the fade. He could feel that. And his brother had been here as well. He walked back out of the house and continued down the road. He could sense nothing more of either his mother or brother.

Duncan did not need to enter any of the other houses to know that all the occupants were dead. He could also sense the darkspawn that lurked within them, waiting for unsuspecting passersby to investigate. They had been drawn here to the remnants of his brother's magic. And he had not sent them away. Duncan was tempted to do so himself, but he did not want to telegraph his presence at this time, and using his power to compel these darkspawn was a sure fire way to get his brother's attention. Duncan could sense that his brother's mind was currently focused elsewhere. He tried not to think overmuch about what Urthemiel might be focusing on as he mounted his horse and prodded the nervous creature through the village.

How many other villages has he destroyed in an attempt to find Mother? Duncan wondered.

He did not think he would get the chance to find out. There were no other villages along this small road that Duncan knew of. And the road led straight to Highever. Duncan wondered what new horror awaited him in the city of Highever.

**

Gildre relayed everything he could remember clearly from his dream to Connor and Alistair. However, he did not tell them Morrigan's last request of him. Gildre knew full well that Alistair would never give up on Lyssa, that he would never be able to bring himself, or allow anyone else, to kill Lyssa. So Gildre didn't relay that wish, nor his intention to act on it should the Old God find where Lyssa was hidden. It wasn't because it was Morrigan's dying wish; it was because he couldn't stand the thought of Lyssa being turned, unwilling, into that abomination's puppet. Of what he did relay, he stressed that Morrigan had told him that if the Old God managed to get Lyssa's body, he would likely defile her. Gildre held out a slim hope that Alistair might, considering the full implications of what it might entail to be at the mercy of a being that was, for all practical comparisons, a god, come to his own conclusion on what to do with Lyssa should the thing find them. He knew that whichever of them that terrible task might fall to, they would be destroyed by the act, and he selfishly hoped that Alistair would shoulder that burden. But he knew he would do it himself if it came to that. Gildre could not get the sound of Morrigan's terror filled voice out of his head.

They asked Dread and Bigfoot to stay within the captain's quarters and guard Lyssa while the rest of them went to shore in a large skiff. They were preparing to depart the ship when Jasper came above deck and looked out over the water. A thick morning fog had settled in but the city of Highever could still just be made out in the distance.

"Why are we stopping here? I thought we were going on to Denerim?" Jasper had sounded annoyed.

"You can ride on to Denerim if you wish, Jasper. But we are supposed to be meeting a healer here who might be able to help Lyssa," Gildre said as he prepared the skiff for launch. Gildre had decided not to tell Jasper the truth of their mission. Gildre couldn't bear to see Jasper's accusing eyes again. The rest of the party had agreed to keep Jasper in the dark as long as it wasn't too much of a burden.

Jasper sighed, irritated. Connor who was shoving a few things into his bag from a crate labeled "Fragile" as Jasper approached him.

Jasper reached down and touched Connor on the shoulder. Connor looked up and smiled at him.

"What is it?" Connor asked, closing the top of his bag.

"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I know I have been an ass to everyone here. I don't know why I let Gildre drag me back to Seheron. I assume I was drunk, so it probably seemed like a good idea at the time," Jasper said leaning against the crate.

Connor slung his pack onto his back. "I'm sure everyone understands, Jasper."

"No. They don't. I haven't felt this welcome somewhere since I got lost in the Korcari wilds and found myself in the midst of about ten rabid wolves. I know no one really cares for me here. They are all Gildre's friends, not mine, except for you," Jasper said sadly.

"Well, to be fair, you haven't been particularly nice to any of them," Connor said smiling.

"I tried. Not this time no, but before I left Gildre the first time. I don't know why I can't be the same Jasper from the tower who was easy going and liked to laugh at everyone's jokes," Jasper said, his voice sullen.

Connor put his hand on Jasper's back. "You know, you can always go back. Irving is getting on in age, and the tower always needs more good experienced mages to help with the apprentices."

Jasper nodded. "I probably will go back there."

He stared across the deck to where Gildre was lowering the skiff into the water.

"I still love him, you know? It's a horrible thing to love someone and not have it returned like this. It blackens your heart and twists you up inside. You start to suspect everything they do and say. You hate everyone who makes them laugh. Anyone who makes him happy when I can't... it is a terrible compulsion, to remain with him, ridiculously hoping he might change. It has turned me into a wretched thing that everyone either pities or loathes. I know I can't be myself again until I get free of its grip," Jasper said sadly.

He walked off toward the skiff and Connor stared after him. Connor tried to think of something to say that might help his old friend, but he couldn't think of anything pertinent or appropriately conciliatory because Jasper was right. This love had turned him into something different. It had twisted him not unlike a demon would. In a way, Jasper was a kind of abomination of himself.

"A power to be handled quite delicately, lest it turn upon its wielder," Connor said to himself.

They all climbed down the rope ladder into the skiff. Even though the skiff was only made to hold two Q'unari, the five of them were able to find room in the boat, but just barely. They sat very still as they approached the docks at Highever so as not to capsize the small, overloaded craft. Jasper scanned the coast up and down, wary.

"This is wrong," he said quietly. "Highever is a busy port. Where are all the trading ships? I know it's foggy, so they wouldn't be out in the water, but we should still be able to hear the men calling out and working on the dock."

Alistair perked up after Jasper pointed this very disturbing and pertinent fact out. He stopped rowing and motioned for Sten to stop as well. He listened carefully, inclining one ear towards the shore. Not a single sound escaped the docks, nor did he catch anything of the normal cacophony of sounds of the bustling city beyond.

"Jasper is right. Something is wrong here." Alistair said in a low voice. "I don't think we should row on any more, the splashing is too loud and will attract attention. Connor, can you get us to shore, but with less noise?"

Connor chanted up a small targeted breeze that slowly nudged them to shore, and the boat glided through the choppy waters making hardly a sound. They were all on high alert as the docks came into view, breaking through the fog silently as they approached. The group stealthily tied their boat up to one of the pylons and climbed up onto the dock. Gildre grabbed Alistair's arm and pointed to the water. A man was floating in the harbor, face down.

Alistair swallowed heavily as he drew his blade. Sten and Gildre did the same while Jasper and Connor switched to a two-handed grip with their staves. Alistair stepped forward on the docks, and then he suddenly stopped. It had been a long time since he had felt the presence of darkspawn. The city of Highever seemed to be crawling with them.

"Darkspawn, be careful," he muttered to the party.

Alistair heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. Gildre had spotted the shore, his elven eyes sharpest among the group.

A huge pile of bodies mounded up on the shore. The stench hit Alistair then and he stifled the reflexive gag. They approached the pile. There were easily a hundred men, women and children mounded on top of each other. In the center of the mass of human bodies, a giant spike jutted out from the ground. Bodies had been speared by the spike all the way to the tip, in a tightly packed stack. Blood ran down from the spiked corpses and covered the bodies heaped in the mound around it.

A wooden slab was set at the base of side of the pile. Flowers and fruits had been placed on the slab. Alistair picked up a daisy in his hand. It was still fresh. He turned and looked at Connor in horror.

"Humans put these here," he hissed.

Connor stepped forward and picked up a piece of fruit. No evidence of the taint was on the soft fleshy surface of the food.

"It's some kind of shrine. But why? If it is to the Old God that makes no sense. The Old Gods did not demand human sacrifice. And where are the darkspawn? This would be a feast for them, yet they do not come. Why have we not been attacked? Surely the darkspawn have sensed us by now," Connor whispered confused to Alistair. Jasper was just out of earshot, gazing up horrified at the bodies.

"We must find Duncan," Alistair said.

The group moved slowly into the center of town. Alistair could see the castle of Highever at the end of town. The tallest structure in Highever, the castle sat atop a swell of ground, proudly crowning the landside despite the tragedy that sprawled out all around it. Alistair tried not to think of what Lyssa would make of this. Highever was her home and he knew she would be devastated by this turn of events.

Alistair continued to feel the darkspawn presence around him, but none came out of hiding. It was almost as if they were afraid of something. The group proceeded unmolested from the docks, and soon found themselves in the center of town, where a great fountain stood. The water no longer splashed down from the figure atop it, the enchantment had been broken. A mage lie dead in the lowest part of the fountain, his blood turning the water red.

"Fools," came a voice from above them.

They all looked up at the top of the fountain. The figure that had seemed a moment before to be a part of the fountain suddenly moved, and they saw it was a young elf. From the look of her, Alistair assumed she was a mage. She stared back at Alistair for a moment, almost reverentially, for just a second. But as Alistair moved close to her, she saw him more clearly, and the look of awe vanished.

"I know you," Connor said to the woman. "You are Naeti, the Ferelden Castle Mage."

Naeti smiled widely at Connor, "Yes. That is one of my titles."

"What has happened here?" demanded Alistair.

"So handsome, just like his son. You should not have come here," Naeti said forcefully.

"What do you know of Duncan?" Alistair asked, circling the fountain to get closer to Naeti.

"He is good in the sack," Naeti said simply. She seemed distracted, her mind elsewhere.

Gildre exchanged a look with Connor while Alistair clenched his hands. Jasper stared up at Naeti perplexed at this turn of events. Sten shifted his stance, sword at the ready.

"Do not play games with me woman. I am in no mood," Alistair said darkly.

"I play no games. The boy was good in the sack. Does his father wish to know how he compares?" Naeti asked staring down at Alistair and finally giving him her full attention.

Alistair hopped up on the edge of the fountain and brandished his sword. Gildre and Sten positioned themselves behind him.

"I will ask you one more time, then I am done with the niceties. What has happened here?" Alistair asked. His voice was dangerous and low.

"Can you not tell? Urthemiel has returned to us! He will bring us peace and prosperity. Even now he holds the darkspawn enthralled. Never shall we fear them again. There is no more need for your kind, old king. You should be happy, you can retire and forget all about the world," Naeti said in a giddy voice.

"Urthemiel?" Connor said thinking fast. "But he is the god of beauty, not pain or war or death. What possible need could he have for human sacrifice?"

"You know of Urthemiel?" Naeti said turning her attention to Connor, "Then you know of his power as well. His is greater than that of the Maker. Those at the shrine, they are the worshipers of the false god. The Maker left us long ago. Urthemiel and his brothers and sisters, they stayed behind to help us. They are the ones who return to stop the darkspawn. Not the Maker. It is they who will save us and guide us to heaven!"

"The bodies on the docks... they are all followers of the Chant!" Jasper gasped with sudden realization.

"Who did this? Did Urthemiel do this thing?" Alistair asked Naeti.

"Urthemiel?" Naeti laughed, "This is beneath his greatness. He does not even have to ask. I have done it for him! I will win his favor. I will become his queen! When he sees what I have done for him, he will rejoice!"

"It is as I thought," Connor said sadly. "Mortals cannot come in contact with Gods very often or for very long. It is well documented in the old texts. The power of the Gods drives them mad. It is said this is why the Gods lived apart from all mortals. I doubt very much if Urthemiel had anything to do with this, directly at least. This could easily all be the doing of a single very powerful mage, and not that of a god at all."

Jasper leaned forward with confusion on his face. He reached out to touch Connor's arm and ask a question when he was interrupted by Naeti who cackled up on top of the fountain and raised her staff. "You doubt the power of Urthemiel? He has elevated me, made me like him. That is how I know he plans to make me his queen! Look what he has bestowed upon me!"

Naeti's staff ripped a hole in the sky above the small party. A terrible demon crawled out from the huge black tear in the sky, Naeti laughing maniacally the whole time. Connor pointed his staff. Naeti leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding the bolt of lightning that arced from Connor's staff, striking the top of the fountain.

Jasper, forgetting his confusion, leapt into action and was chanting something while pointing his staff at the rip in the sky. But it was too late. As he was sealing the tear in the veil, the enormous pride demon was already dropping down to the ground. The force of its impact caused the earth to shake the ground enough that the entire party was knocked off their feet. The impact kicked up a huge cloud of dust that filled the air and mingled with the thick fog, causing the visibility to drop to almost nothing.

Alistair could barely make out the shape of his own hands before him as he coughed and sputtered, finding it almost impossible to get a clear breath in the thick air. He heard a few of his companions coughing nearby, and then he heard the heavy menacing breath of the demon. It had been a long time since he had used his templar skills in actual combat, but Lyssa never allowed him to stop practicing; almost every day despite their busy schedules. Alistair crept down from the fountain's edge and moved toward where he had last seen Sten. The huge man was facing the direction where the pride demon had dropped, holding his great two handed sword aloft before him.

Alistair tapped Sten on the arm and motioned for him to circle around the space where the sound of the breathing demon was emanating from. Alistair took another step forward and Gildre appeared in the gloom. He had his long thin sword out and was moving it with sharp, quick motions from side to side in front of him, as if trying to cut away the fog and dust. Alistair came up beside him and Gildre fell into position on Alistair's flank. They approached the breathing sound slowly.

The sound became very loud as they moved forward, and suddenly it seemed to be coming from all around them at once. Just then a rocky face full of black eyes broke though the murky cloud before them. Gildre yanked Alistair back just as one of the demon's huge stony fists swung toward him. They both jabbed out with their blades at the same time, the metal clanking off the hard skin of the demon ineffectually.

Just then a huge bolt of lightning came down from the sky, striking the beast in the head. It shivered for a moment, but then started shaking the effects of the stunning blow off. The bolt had passed so close to Alistair and Gildre their hair stood out from the static discharge around them. In the few seconds the beast was stunned, Sten came up behind it and plunged his sword into its back. The tip of the blade was just visible to Alistair and Gildre on the other side of the demon. Then the blade withdrew as Sten was tossed off by the demon as if he were made of nothing more substantial than straw. The huge demon, unaware of or ignoring the large hole Sten had just punched through it, raised its fist and hurled a fireball at Gildre. Gildre, caught in the flames, began to slap his chest with his hands madly, trying to put the fire out. Alistair quickly called out a dispelling chant and the flames died away.

They turned around to find that the pride demon had disappeared into the fog and dust again. They heard another lightning bolt crash into the ground and both hoped it had hit its mark. Gildre's armor was still smoking as he and Alistair turned left and right, trying to see through the fog to their enemy. Alistair felt himself violently jerked back just as a massive spear of ice sailed by his face and crashed into the ground a few feet beyond him. Alistair felt time slow as his body turned, spun by the momentum of being jerked back, to see Connor, who was still pulling on Alistair's armor, screaming out a warning. Alistair continued to spin, and turned his head with the motion to see Gildre facing them, another sharp bolt of ice barreling directly for him.

Alistair reached out towards his friend, adding his own guttural, wordless cry to Connor's warning. Then, just as the spear was about to connect, Jasper appeared in front of Gildre. He hadn't leapt there, he had just magically appeared, his back towards them. The shard plunged deep into him and then lifted him up, slamming him into Gildre and driving them in a heap to the ground. Gildre felt the bite of the shard as it plunged through his armor into his skin. The pain was agonizing, and the impact with the ground, and the crush of Jasper on top of him, drove the spike further in. It pained him to breath, but he did so. He could feel the warm gush of blood across his chest, and he blearily wondered if it was more his or Jasper's.

Then Gildre looked up into Jasper's face, and saw his eyes had already glazed over with the vacant and focused mask of death. He shuddered as he started to cry, the motion brought a stabbing pain around the ice spear in his chest. He didn't even try to fight the tears that started to streak down his face, not even when he heard the loud blast of a lightning strike very near him. There was nothing for him now, except this moment, here beneath Jasper. He reached up and touched Jasper's face, the dust from the air creating a muddy trail where his fingers traced. Jasper's spectacles had been knocked off by the blow of the ice bolt.

Gildre reached up and slowly closed Jasper's eyelids. He carefully pushed Jasper off of him and screamed as the ice shard was pulled from his chest. He put his hand on the well of blood that was now pumping out of his wound and pressed, wincing in pain. He looked up to see Sten cleaving the demon's arm and shoulder from its body. As the limb fell to the ground with a heavy thud, Alistair leapt into the air and shoved his sword into the now very exposed side of the demon, his blade traveling through the fresh wound that Sten had made all the way to the hilt, piercing the demon to its core.

As the demon fell, Alistair turned and rushed to Gildre's side, gingerly lifting Gildre's hands to look at the deep, wide wound in his chest. Blood pumped out as Alistair moved the pressure off the wound. Alistair winced at the sight of the deadly wound and pressed his own hand over the gap in Gildre's chest.

"Connor!" Alistair shouted out as he pulled a small health poultice from a little pouch in his side.

Alistair bit off the tiny cork stopping the top of the poultice. He spit the cork to the side and looked down at Gildre, holding the small poultice bottle hovering over Gildre's chest.

"Bite down on something if you've got it," Alistair said.

Gildre grunted in pain as he reached down and grabbed a small dagger from his waist. He pulled the dagger out and dropped it on the ground. Gildre then shoved the small leather sheath that had protected the blade between his teeth. Alistair waited patiently for Gildre to finish before he carefully moved his other hand from Gildre's wound and began to pour the contents of the bottle into it. Connor was running up to them as Gildre screamed out in pain and then bit down hard into the leather sheath in his mouth, his scream continuous, but muffled now that he was desperately biting into the leather. The wound fizzled and steamed and the blood flow slowed.

"I need you to heal him. This will only buy us a little time. The wound is too grievous for my poultice to actually heal," Alistair said turning to Connor.

"I'll do what I can," Connor said kneeling next to Gildre and chanting softly.

Gildre turned his head and found Jasper's face staring back at him, his body sprawled on its side just a few feet away from Gildre. Jasper's lifeless body was still oozing blood out from the points the ice spear that skewered him protruded. He could see that the pool of his own blood had stretched far enough to reach Jasper's, and the blood was mingling. He closed his eyes and turned away from Jasper's dead face.

Alistair pulled another poultice from his pack and poured the contents into Gildre's wound. Gildre barely felt it this time, as his mind began to slip from consciousness. Alistair reached out and slapped Gildre hard on the face.

"No! Stay awake!" Alistair commanded.

Gildre, startled at the fresh sting on his face, looked up into Alistair's concerned eyes. Alistair broke his gaze from Gildre and looked down at the wound again. The look on his face confirmed Gildre's fears. The wound was not healing fast enough.

"Faster Connor, he's losing too much blood," Gildre heard Alistair shout as his vision grew blurry.

"It is too large a wound for me. I am no spirit mage," Connor said helplessly.

Gildre felt Alistair's hands on his chest again, pressing the wound. He thought he felt another slap, but it was duller, and the world around him was dim now. He was sure he had passed the veil when he no longer felt Alistair's rough hand on his cheek, as they were replaced by the soft, cool hands of his other dear friend. He even thought he heard Lyssa's voice, that he felt her gentle touch against his face.

"I'm so sorry," Gildre said weakly, reaching up, questing for her face so he might touch her back.


	15. Chapter 15 : No Mortal Could

_**Chapter 15 : No Mortal Could  
**_

Duncan walked through the misty streets of Highever cautiously—he could sense the darkspawn teaming in the thaig beneath the city. The streets were eerily quiet, nothing disturbing the blanket of fog that snaked through the streets and clung to the houses save for Duncan and Wynne, stealthily trailing her master by several paces, constantly sniffing and sweeping her huge head from side to side. She could sense her master's distress. Nothing would be safe here if the darkspawn decided to surge out from the forgotten thaig beneath Highever. But for now, they remained beneath the stone. He could sense their confusion. They knew an Old God was near, but it was unlike the dragons they instinctually sought. They lusted after the power, but they feared and loathed it was well, remaining transfixed in the thaig, waiting.

They may be dormant for know, Duncan thought, but they will not remain so for long. He had to get Urthemiel out of this world, or at the very least, cleanse Urthemiel of the taint so he could disguise his power from the horde.

"If he does not die quickly, they will surge this city out of madness," Duncan said to himself.

Wynne looked up at Duncan as he spoke, then she darted quickly to his side, alert and pointed off to the right.

Duncan let his mind probe around in the houses. Nearby, he could sense that people still lived, despite the ghostly silence that enveloped Highever.

"Steady Wynne. They are no threat. They must have barricaded themselves inside their homes before the worst of it." He flashed back to the few bodies he had seen on his way in to Highever, crudely impaled on rough pikes of wood posted at the gates to Highever, a warning to those thinking to enter.

Crude and unnecessary, Duncan had thought to himself. That was not his brother's work. Duncan knew his brother would have no interest in this town—not now that he had Lyssa to focus his attentions on.

Just then Duncan heard a voice come from the center of the town. He headed off in that direction, weaving between houses as fast as he could, Wynne close behind. As he got closer, he could begin to make out the occasional word. When he was sure he was only a few seconds away from reaching the voices, he recognized one of them as Alistair's. As he was coming around the last building, he felt a sudden jolt and halted. Powerful magic was being wielded just ahead, and he suddenly realized what it was. The veil between this realm and the fade was being ripped open. The hair on the back of his neck lifted; the magic had a familiar feel to Duncan. He braced himself and took a few steps forward, just as a lithe figure ran around the corner of the building into his line of sight. The figure turned back as it reached the corner, looking behind her toward the town square. Duncan motioned Wynne to stay back, and then moved silently forward. He could make her out for the elf woman she was from this distance. As he took another step closer, he could see that she was smiling.

"Naeti," Duncan said coolly.

Naeti startled, spinning towards Duncan. The smile on her face faltered a little when she saw him.

"Duncan. It is nice to see you. Looking for your brother still I see," Naeti said.

She began slinking toward Duncan in a sultry manner, twisting her hips with each step. She came within inches of him and stopped. She reached out to caress his face. Duncan's hand shot out and locked onto her wrist. Naeti squirmed, trying to free herself from Duncan's unyielding grip.

"I see Andoral has returned," Naeti hissed.

Duncan cocked his head as he looked at the elf mage. "You are working with Urthemiel then. And…" Duncan lifted his other hand to place in on Naeti's forehead. She jerked backward, trying to break away to avoid Duncan's touch, but his grip on her arm was too tight. He pulled her firmly to him and laid his hand softly on her head as he finished his thought, "you have spent too many nights with him. I should have noticed before, but perhaps the signs were too subtle at first. In any case, it is a foolish thing for a mortal to do."

Duncan looked at the elf mage and the smallest frown pulled at his lips. Something that might have been pity crossed his face.

"Yes," Naeti said defiantly, "I am to be his bride. I am to remain by his side for an eternity. Look at all I have done for him," Naeti gestured to the silent city around her. "And I have even destroyed that which he despises above all others, his flesh father!"

"What have you done with father?" Duncan asked, his grip tightening on Naeti's arm as he looked ahead in the direction Naeti had come from.

"Pride demons have their uses," Naeti said laughing.

Duncan looked down at Naeti, any hint of pity gone. "I do not have time for you," he said flatly.

Naeti laughed back at him madly. Without warning, her free hand shot out toward Duncan. Inches from his head, brimming with dark swirling magic, her hand stopped. The energy dissipated as Naeti's hand dropped away.

The long dagger had entered under her jaw and thrust straight through, jutting out through the top of her skull by several inches. Duncan had started losing the dagger from its sheath the moment Naeti had mentioned the demon. At least she had attacked him. He hadn't relished the idea of striking her down unarmed and unprovoked. As he had slid the dagger home, he released her other hand and reached around her body, stopping her from falling to the ground.

Duncan laid her body gently down. He carefully withdrew his dagger from her and then wiped it on her robes. He sheathed it and rested his hand on her torso.

"I am sorry Naeti," he said simply. "Wynne," he called softly behind him. Almost immediately, Wynne appeared from the swirling fog.

"Follow. Guard." He said simply to Wynne. Then Duncan stood and hurried off toward the center of the town. The fog and dust were thick, and he couldn't yet see the people he heard ahead of him, panic clear in their voices. He could sense that the tear in the veil had been repaired, and that the pride demon was dead. Then he heard an anguished cry and he knew it was his father. He ran into the dust cloud, searching blindly. He tripped over something, and Duncan looked down to see Jasper. He was dead, impaled by a massive bolt of ice.

Duncan walked past Jasper's body, towards the urgent conversation ahead. He drew close enough that he could finally see Alistair. He was leaning over Gildre. Connor was next to them, trying to heal a grievous wound in Gildre's chest. Sten was standing behind Alistair, his hand on Alistair's shoulder. Alistair was kneeling next to Gildre, his hands resting limply on Gildre's chest. Duncan came up beside Alistair and looked more closely at Gildre's chest. None of the party had noticed him yet, so transfixed by the sight of their friend, dead before them. Duncan was close enough now that he could make out the wound clearly; he could see right through to young man's heart. Just then, Connor collapsed in a heap, exhausted from expending every bit of magic he knew to try to save his friend.

Duncan knelt down and pushed his father gently aside, and the party finally noticed him. Before they could even reconcile his appearance on the scene, Duncan was leaning over Gildre. He put his hands on either side of Gildre's face and looked down into his eyes. The light in them was almost completely faded.

"His life is not yet gone," Duncan said. He felt the power begin to build within him.

Alistair half turned toward Duncan, not looking away from Gildre. "Perhaps if we had a spirit mage, but his wound, all that blood…"

Duncan felt the power start to flow through his fingers, thick and slow at first.

Gildre's eyes fluttered then, and began to focus on Duncan. He reached up weakly and touched Duncan's face. "I'm sorry," Gildre whispered.

Alistair turned to his son, astonished. And then the power inside Duncan surged, flowing fast and free through him and into Gildre. Duncan's hands glowed white hot. He could hear, but only dimly registered, that Wynne was barking beside him, having disobeyed his order to patrol and guard only. An aura pulsed around Duncan and Gildre. Alistair could feel a warmth lightly touching his skin, and the aches and pains from being cramped in the small boat earlier disappeared. The aura pushed out further, and the fog around the center of town burned away, leaving only the cool blue morning sky over Highever. Duncan felt a drop of sweat fall from his brow, and he watched it drop from him towards Gildre. It evaporated before it hit Gildre's cheek.

The wound in Gildre's chest closed slowly, the flesh bubbling at the edges of the wound and creeping back in towards the center. The bubbling ring left pale skin behind it as it collapsed, pale and oddly marred by dark spots on the skin. The wound finally tightened to a marble sized welt, still moving, and then the bubbling flesh smoothed completely. Duncan released Gildre's face and leaned back on his heels, taking a deep breath of air into his lungs. Gildre stirred a little, then sat up slowly, clutching his chest.

"That feels so... funky," Gildre said rubbing the spot on his chest. He looked down to see he was whole and unharmed, except for right where the wound had been there were symbols on his chest that looked like long faded tattoos. Gildre didn't recognize the symbols at all.

Alistair reached forward and gripped Duncan's shoulder. "How did you do that?"

Duncan did not speak. He rubbed his eyes for a moment.

"Is it like Wynne? Do you have... a benevolent spirit within you?" Connor asked. Duncan stood and held out his hand to Gildre. Gildre took it and Duncan pulled him to his feet. Gildre wavered unsteadily.

"It is something like that. It is... complicated," Duncan said.

"But you are no mage?" Alistair asked looking from Connor to Duncan.

"Like I said. It is complicated," Duncan said turning to look at his father and smiling. "I see you got my..." Duncan was cut off as he found himself enveloped in a huge bear hug by Alistair.

"I can't believe how tall you've gotten. I think you have a couple inches on me. I didn't think people grew after their eighteenth birthday," Alistair said laughing as he pulled back to look at Duncan, "But... it seems you're going to keep your mother's build."

"Nothing wrong with that," Gildre said as he slapped Duncan on the back, "Don't listen to your father. He thinks the ladies only look at him because he has that big warrior build. But you got the best part of him if you ask me. That pretty face," Gildre smiled weakly, chucking Duncan on the chin. "Thanks for saving me, lad. I owe you one."

Gildre turned and looked down at Jasper sadly.

"It was too late for him the moment the blow struck, I'm afraid," Duncan said following Gildre's gaze. Wynne paced over to Jasper's body. She put her maw gently into his hair and sniffed once. She considered the body for a moment. Then she looked up at the rest of the group and let out a low whine.

Gildre walked to Jasper and knelt beside him, placing a hand on Wynne. "He took the blow meant for me. As it was, it was almost a useless attempt at heroism."

"There is no such thing as almost when you are speaking of life and death. You are alive. He succeeded," Duncan stated.

Gildre looked up at Duncan and nodded once, slowly. "Yes... I guess you are right about that."

Gildre stopped absently petting Wynne then and reached out to Jasper. He grabbed one of Jasper's hands, and then leaned in close to Jasper, their faces inches apart. Connor turned away from them.

"I never deserved your love. You deserved so much more than this. I'm so sorry I did this to you. I'm sorry for everything Jasper," Gildre's voice was hoarse and low, wavering with emotion, the shock from his near death and resurrection finally giving way to his raw grief.

"You know that is not true, Gildre. You did not do anything to him that made this happen. The guilt you are feeling is for the part you played in his life, not the part you played in his death. Jasper chose this for himself because he loved you. Do not dishonor his sacrifice by blaming yourself," Duncan said.

Gildre let Jasper's hand drop and he stood. He turned away from Jasper to face Duncan and Alistair. He was still crying, but his voice no longer trembled when he said, "Let's go."

Connor turned back to the group, but not before he hastily wiped at his eyes.

"We have your mother, she is on the ship. We have left her there... because someone told us it would be a good idea to keep her body away from..." Alistair trailed off, unsure of what to say to his son.

"Yes. It would not be good for my brother to find mother," Duncan said.

"We were hoping you could help her, like you did the last time," Connor said.

"I don't think that would be a good idea at this juncture. My brother is preoccupied with mother at the moment. If we take her away from him, he will become highly agitated. The whole city of Highever could be destroyed if that happened," Duncan said.

"There are still people alive here? But I sense darkspawn all around us," Alistair said looking around at the dark buildings.

"The people are hiding out of fear. Naeti has been terrorizing them it seems. The darkspawn you feel are below us in a forgotten thaig. They came to be near the power of the Old God, but when they arrived and found he was not a dragon, they became confused. Now they sit and wait, uncertain what to do next. Their thoughts on this are still turbulent and not yet cohesive. I suspect this is my brother's doing. He does not wish to be bothered by them."

"So, we're just going to leave her in the fade? What if he decides to harm her? Morrigan said..." Alistair began.

"No. He can only do so much without her body. For the time being, she will be safe. You should leave her on the ship for now. You should also go back to the ship and wait. When she wakes, then you will know it is safe," Duncan said.

"What?" Alistair asked surprised.

"You cannot come with me, father," Duncan said calmly.

"The hell I can't! That bastard of a god has Lyssa and... Maker knows what he's..."

"You cannot come," Duncan repeated, "That is exactly what he wants. He wants you to come to him so he can destroy you. If he destroys you... No. Go back to the ship now. If the darkspawn sense her presence they will alert my brother. You must return to her and defend her at all costs," Duncan said.

"I will not let you do this alone," Alistair said angrily.

"You cannot help me with this father," Duncan said.

Alistair crossed his arms obstinately. Duncan looked at the other members of the party for a moment.

"I would like to speak to my father for a moment, if I could," Duncan said.

Sten nodded. He, Gildre, and Connor turned away, heading for the edge of the town square.

"Wynne," Duncan said, and he gestured after them. Wynne looked after the group for a moment, considering. Then she disobediently trotted over to Duncan. She looked up at him and barked loudly. Duncan eyed her for a moment, an eyebrow arched. Then he relented and reached down to pet her. She barked again, happily this time. "Fine," he said, "but go do something useful over that direction anyway," he gestured towards the departing group. She bounded away a few dozen feet, then began to circle Alistair and Duncan along a perimeter. When Duncan was certain Gildre and the others were out of earshot, he tugged on his father's arm and pulled him towards the fountain. He sat down at the edge and gestured for Alistair to take a seat next to him. Alistair did, staring hard at Duncan.

"A father-son talk isn't going to cut it. I just found out that your mother has known about this," he gestured from Duncan to the place where Gildre had lain dying, "all this time. Do you know what she let me believe so you could keep this secret? I believed she was having the dreams again, that she would need to go to the Deep Roads. Do you know how that felt?" Alistair asked angrily.

"Yes. I felt it when you did. I made myself feel it," Duncan said.

Alistair stared at his son, frustrated. He wondered if he had ever really understood his odd son, or if he had just fooled himself into thinking so.

"It was important that she lie to you. I asked her to. What would you have done if you had known who was responsible for the last attack on mother? If you knew then what you do now?" Duncan asked.

"I would have killed the bastard, that's what. What would have been so wrong about that? He should have been put down long ago," Alistair said defiantly.

"When he was just a babe, new to his flesh, perhaps you could have killed him. If Morrigan would have let you, of course. But she made the mistake of loving him as a child. She let him grow. He became too powerful for her to control within months of his birth.

"He is a god, father. You have never seen the power of one such as him," Duncan said placing his hand on his father's.

"I killed him once before. I can do it again," Alistair said.

"You speak of the archdemon. If he had not been crippled long ago by his brother, you would not have been able to defeat him then. When he was reborn, he regained his full strength. No mortal could stand before him now," Duncan said.

"No mortal? What makes you think you can do it?" Alistair asked searching his son's eyes for an answer.

Duncan looked at his father for a moment before speaking. "I mentioned the complication, right?"

Alistair looked confused for a moment, and then smiled crookedly, "A joke! I am impressed." Alistair squeezed his son's hand. After a moment he asked, "And you're sure I can't help you?"

"This is a one way trip father," Duncan said. Alistair's eyes widened. He gripped Duncan's hand more tightly.

"What?" he asked.

"I have known what I must do all my life. It does not make me happy, but it must be done. For the sake of Thedas. If my brother gets what he wants, soon after he will seek to right the world, much like our brother before him, because he is still touched by the taint. Despite the ritual, your seed still carried with it a small amount. His flesh body still bears that trace. It is enough to make him unpredictable, and it makes it hard for him to distinguish good from evil. The taint allows him to justify... certain actions. He will use this same justification to kill many more people. I cannot allow that to happen," Duncan said.

"There must be some way to defeat him, something we can do that won't cost your life!" Alistair said.

"Father, it is already too late. My body grows tired. Even if I turned now from my brother and fled, I would not have much time left. The complication I spoke of... it comes at a price," Duncan said.

Alistair felt a tear creep out of his eye as he reached out to touch Duncan's face, "A father is not supposed to outlive his son. This is my fault. I should be the one who..."

Duncan put his hand over his father's mouth, stopping the words. "No father. I was always to be a ruler of Ferelden, whether or not I was born this way. Even if my brother weren't a threat, there would be something else. Rulers must make the hard choices for their people and sometimes, they must make sacrifices. It has always been so. You know this well. I could very well have fallen in battle, as Cailan did. I could have been called upon to defeat a Blight, as you and mother where. I could have been assassinated by the Grand Cleric. All these things might have happened regardless of whether or not I was born with the taint. I am a ruler. Our lives belong to the people. You know this father. I learned it from you."

Alistair pulled his son toward him and held him tightly. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better father to you."

Duncan smiled and hugged his father back. "You're the best father I've ever had."

Alistair couldn't help himself. He started laughing. "Now? Now as you tell me I'm never going to see you again? Now is when you show me your hidden talent as a jester?"

Duncan pulled away and Alistair's cheeks were wet.

"I should go. Protect mother. I will not fail you," Duncan said standing. He put something in his father's hand and walked away.

Alistair stood and watched Duncan head off toward the edge of the square, Wynne following close behind. He stopped suddenly and called back to his father. "Be careful. Should my brother sense you here, he will try to find you using the fade. Mother is not the only one he can pull into the fade. If you find yourself there, do not believe what you see. Look with your heart, not with your eyes."

Then he turned and disappeared around a corner of a building. Alistair stood there for a moment, staring after him before he turned and trudged back toward his companions. Alistair looked down in his hand at the small leather pouch Duncan had pressed into it. He opened it up and saw two rings inside, along with two amulets. The amulets had a great white griffons emblazoned upon them and a tiny glass cylinder at their center that glinted red in the sunlight. There was a tiny note rolled up in the pouch.

_You should recognize the rings. I had to dig through the remains long ago to get them, but I wanted something of you both beside me at all times. You exchanged these rings shortly before I was conceived. I felt it was appropriate. I wish you to have them back. I won't be needing them where I am going. The vials I made. They each contain a drop of my blood. Much like the vials you give new recruits to remember the joining. Keep them with you. When you pass from this world, they will help us find each other again._

_ No regrets.__  
Love,  
Duncan_

Alistair stared at the note a long time before he looked at the rings again. He knew them the moment he had drawn them from the pouch; his and Lyssa's wedding bands. They had not been able to find them after everything had returned to normal in the castle. They had never replaced them, thinking the rings would show up eventually. He picked up the ring Lyssa had given him and carefully put it on his finger. He then tied one of the little amulets with the tiny vial of blood around his neck. He carefully laced Lyssa's ring onto the remaining amulet's chain and draped that around his neck as well, carefully tucking both amulets under his armor. He folded the note up and replaced it in the small pouch, which he then secured in a larger one on his belt. Then he sprinted all the way back to the boat.


	16. Chapter 16 : When Gods Collide

_**Chapter 16 : When Gods Collide**_

Duncan rode his horse northwest from Highever, pushing it hard the few short miles to the coast. Wynne followed, barking insistently behind him as she attempted to keep pace, slowly dropping away. When he reached the beach, he slowed; the sand was wet and his horse plodded along more slowly as they followed the shoreline west. Duncan could already hear Wynne closing the gap between them as they came to a series of rocky cliffs that overlooked the Waking Sea. The cliffs jutted into the air like uneven, jagged teeth; sometimes rising only a dozen feet from the water, and in other places looming dozens of feet above him. Duncan dismounted and looked back at Highever harbor in the distance. He could just make out Sten's boat floating out at sea between him and the harbor. Sure enough, there was Wynne scrabbling along the beach not more than a hundred feet away.

"Go home girl," Duncan said, slapping the mare on the rump. She started off quickly, galloping back towards Highever.

Wynne reached him. She stopped right in front of him, sat down and, after a few moments of heavy panting, let out a small reprimanding growl of disapproval, punctuated by a sharp, accusatory bark. He looked down at his Mabari and patted her head.

"I know you want to come with me." Duncan knelt so he was looking directly into Wynne's face. "We have not had enough time together, I know. Although life is sometimes just, it is rarely fair, my Wynne, and this is where our path together ends, one way or the other." He looked into Wynne's large, round eyes, black pools reflecting his face. "You can change your mind, you know. You could run wild, or find another," Duncan said. He waited for her to respond.

After a moment, the Mabari whined at him, nuzzling his stroking hand. Duncan rested his forehead on Wynne's and sighed.

"You aren't going to make this easy, are you? Alright then—together," Duncan said.

Duncan started up the small rocky outcrops that littered the section of beach where it transitioned from sandy beach to crumbling rock face. As he reached the first of the larger formations, which presented an almost vertical, smooth face several dozen feet tall and across, he began to feel along the face of the cliff. Wynne scrambled among the rocks and jagged boulders, finding it difficult to find purchase with her claws on the smooth, wet rock. Had Duncan not been concentrating his attention so closely and patiently along the face of the cliff, she would have been hard pressed to keep up with him.

It took Duncan several minutes to find the area he was looking for. Along the rock face, where a small boulder leaned awkwardly against the stone, the rock was almost imperceptibly warmer than the surrounding stone. Duncan heaved against the rock with all his weight, but it did not budge. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on the stone.

Duncan's fingers began to glow white, and he could feel the boulder begin to tremble beneath his fingers. After a few seconds, the boulder collapsed in on itself in a shower of fine particles of dark sand. The sand poured out of the air onto the ground, flowing out towards the beach, burying Duncan's feet up to the ankles, hissing softly as it moved. Eventually the sand's movement halted and Duncan opened his eyes. Warm air was rushing out from the tunnel he faced. He could smell the sulfurous scent that was the mainstay of dwarven thaigs.

Duncan took a careful step forward into the black cave, and paused for just a moment. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Then he began to collapse just a little, slumping a few inches before he shot back up straight. He started forward again, and this time he continued briskly and uninterrupted. Wynne let out several short small whines from behind him.

"Come then, Wynne, although Duncan would rather you not" he called back to Wynne, and the voice was no longer quite Duncan's. Andoral had completely taken over Duncan's body. "Duncan has another task that he need complete in the fade for this to work. It is just you and I for now."

Andoral could hear Wynne's heavy panting following behind him as he continued forward into the dark.

Andoral walked for what seemed like miles, winding down through the completely lightless passageways unerringly. Although he could see nothing with Duncan's physical eyes, in his mind he held a perfect image of this path, as well as the entire network of tunnels that wound about, sometimes doubling back, some leading to blind ends, others connecting the occasional open cavern. He ignored all the side tunnels and passages that branched off, heading directly for his brother. The warm air grew hotter and dryer as he descended, carrying nothing of the scent of the sea air that one thin long tendril of tunnel whipped out and connected to.

Andoral did not need his eyes to know where his brother was, nor that he was near. Urthemiel was very close, that much was easy to tell. Andoral knew that if he could feel Urthemiel, Urthemiel could surely feel him—if he was paying attention. Andoral and Duncan were counting on his brother to be preoccupied with Lyssa for a little longer.

Finally the end of the passageway grew near. Andoral could faintly see light coming from ahead. He came suddenly to the end of the passageway, a jagged hole that was set high up in one massive sheer wall that bounded the thaig along a side. The tunnel was clearly not meant for transit, as there was no stair or ladder connecting it to the floor almost twenty feet below. Andoral stepped forward into the open air. Wynne barked madly at him from behind, rushing forward to see her master land softly in a cloud of fine dust that lined the entrance to the mine.

Andoral turned back up and looked into Wynne's eyes.

"Come, I will catch you," Andoral said opening his arms.

Wynne whined for a moment, prancing back and forth at the lip of the tunnel. After letting out a loud bark, she leapt into the air. Andoral reached up and grabbed her, hugging the massive beast to him tightly, as if she was no more than a mere pup. He hugged her like that for a few moments before bending over to gently set her down.

"On we go, my friend," Andoral said, an unusual note of emotion coloring his words.

Andoral followed the dim light to the palace. When he finally reached the huge building, ascending several dozen large steps, hewn from the rock face and each several yards across, he found the source of the light. A massive semi-circular well, heavily ornamented, abutted the palace. He stepped forward and peered down. An overwhelming scent of brimstone smacked him in the face, but he did not flinch back. Far below he could make out the reddish-orange glow of lava. He turned from the well and entered the towering archway leading into the palace. He went through several passageways until he saw flickering candles lining the halls. Wynne padded behind him as silently as she could, sensing trouble.

Andoral turned a corner and found himself stepping out of a hallway and into a massive room, a large throne dominating the center of one wall. Urthemiel was sitting languidly on the throne, stroking his chest with his hand and smiling. His mind was only partially here in this room.

Andoral took a few steps forward and Urthemiel stirred slightly, his head moving towards Duncan, but his eyes half-closed and unfocused. Upon seeing Andoral, Urthemiel's eyes sharpened as he brought his full attention into the throne room, pulling back the part of him that had been in the fade, collecting all of his conscious together.

"So you come. And you still carry my flesh brother with you. And... a dog? How interesting," Urthemiel said silkily.

"Hello brother. It has been a long time," Andoral said.

Wynne growled low and fiercely at Andoral's side.

"Yes. Though I wonder who should be thanking who for that. I know it was you who sent my flesh mother to aid the warriors of light. That was terribly cruel of you. There I was, staring into the warrior's eyes, ready to follow her on to the next realm. And just as I began to slough off this miserable plane, I find myself yanked back and hurled into that ridiculously tiny cage of knitting flesh within that witch woman," Urthemiel said coldly.

Andoral stared at his brother. "I am sorry that your journey was delayed, brother, but I could not escape alone. The woman Flemeth had bound me to the fade. I needed your help. You would begrudge me that?"

Urthemiel sighed heavily. "No. I suppose if I had been in a similar situation I would have done the same. Well, here we are. What now, my dear Andoral. What does my brother wish of me next?"

"We can go. We can move on, join our brothers and sisters in the next realm, as you wanted. I have a guide. He will take both of us," Andoral said.

Urthemiel laughed. "So that's why you have yet to throw him from his body. My flesh brother is so giving of himself! So he has offered his life to you? To the one who has occupied his body and mind since his birth? To the one that is even now burning through the last of his mortal life? These warriors of light, they are so unlike the rest of the mortals. They waste their martyrdom on them."

"So you will come?" Andoral asked.

"No. I have found my own guide," Urthemiel said leaning back in the huge stone throne.

"Mother has agreed to give you her life?" Andoral asked.

"Mother?" Urthemiel laughed. "My dear Andoral, you have spent too many days sharing the body of my flesh brother. She is no mother to you. You will need much time, I think, to be rid of the emotions this body has tainted you with. A god of justice cannot be constantly tripped up by such trifling things as pity or sympathy!"

Andoral frowned and looked down at the ground. Urthemiel eyed him curiously.

"You have not answered my question," Andoral said.

"You would not understand. You were not given your own vessel. You have shared one all this time. If you took his body completely, if you had allowed yourself the pleasures of the flesh... you would understand," Urthemiel said.

"His body is not mine to take. His soul was already formed when I found him. He gave me permission to enter and share, nothing more," Andoral said.

"So noble of you Andoral! A god, asking a mortal for permission. What a novel idea," Urthemiel said laughing.

"You would not think so if you did not bear the taint," Andoral said darkly.

"I am cleansed!" Urthemiel said angrily standing up, "I am not tainted!"

"No? The Urthemiel I once knew, my brother, the god of beauty, would never take a warrior of the light against her will!" Andoral said violently.

"I have not enslaved her—I am enlightening her! She will soon see that he is worthless and undeserving of her attention. He is merely another useless mortal, and I am her god! He is not worthy of her love and loyalty. She will be mine or she will be no one's!" Urthemiel shouted.

"Spoken like a mortal," Andoral said taking a step toward his brother. "And you say you have been cleansed. He is a warrior of the light. His worthiness was never in question as his soul is immune to the taint. Yours is not."

Urthemiel swung at his brother, releasing an angry wordless cry as he did so. Andoral hadn't expected such a violent outburst, and was caught off guard. The blow landed solidly in the middle of his chest, and it lifted into the air. He sailed back against the wall opposite the throne, a loud crack exploding into the room as he connected. The force of his body impacting the wall crushed the stone behind him, crunching him several inches into the stone where he remained almost a dozen feet up from the ground, as if pinned to the wall. His head lolled groggily. Wynne barked and growled angrily at Urthemiel, but then ran from him to Andoral, jumping up and scrabbling at the wall beneath Andoral frantically.

"Fool!" Urthemiel screamed. "Have you stopped to consider that it is you that are uncleansed? It is your taint that blinds you to the truth, to the folly of our actions before. We allowed the mortals to learn our ways. They twisted and corrupted what we taught them. They used their power to pierce the veil itself, to leash demons into this world. They were not trying to cleanse themselves of their taint, to evolve and ascend. No, they sought only power, compelled not by nobility or compassion, but by greed and lust; by their taint. It is the mortals that are the abominations in this world. I can see that now, now that I have this fresh, clean vessel and a new set of eyes to gaze out upon the world with. And now I see so much more. I see the way to solve everything, Andoral. The answer was always so simple and obvious that we never noticed it. There is one clear way to rid the world of the mortal's taint— I shall kill every last one of them. Only the warriors of light shall remain."

Andoral's vision had cleared as his brother railed. He had caught his breath now, and he pulled himself up and out from the wall, dropping to the floor below and landing gracefully with only a slight bend of his knees. He straightened and strode towards Urthemiel, Wynne pacing him to his right side. He stared at Urthemiel in horror. "How soon you forget. This is not a new idea. You sound just like our brother, Peitho. Do you not remember what he did? I can recall the disgust you felt when he named himself Maker. How you spoke against him when he tricked the mortals into believing he was the creator of all. Did you not learn from his recklessness? It took the death of his bride for him to realize what he had done."

"I am not Peitho. He was a fool and a coward. I will not use words and persuasion against the mortals, never deigning to directly intervene. No, I will not hesitate to pour every bit of my power against them. And I will not make the same mistake he did with his beloved Andraste. My Lyssa will never part from my side once I have her body. Even when we are finished cleansing this world and are ready to move onto the next, she will be bound to me" Urthemiel said.

"And what if she refuses you? Will you then force her to your will?"Andoral asked pointedly.

Urthemiel clenched his hands. "Once I have her body, she will see me for who I am. She will see me and she will love me. She will not refuse me."

Andoral sighed and crossed his arms. "You will not find her Urthemiel."

Urthemiel smiled wickedly and stepped back up to his throne. He sat down and leaned languidly back into the seat.

"Dear brother, you have done well, considering your limitations," Urthemiel gestured to Andoral, flicking his finger up and down to indicate his body, "Your attempts to hide her from me have delayed me for quite some time. And my flesh mother, oh she was marvelously adept at hiding my warrior's location from me, even in death. But I sensed the sending she made, as I was shattering her mind. I felt it go into the fade with her soul. I was so busy trying to sort through the bits of her mind to find my warrior; I thought I was moments from finding her, so I didn't go after it. I didn't pursue the sending. I should have guessed, though, that whatever it was up to was to somehow keep my warrior from me. It was only much later, frustrated while rummaging through the convoluted mess she had forced me to make of her mind, that I finally happened upon it. A clear whole memory; she was worried about me discovering that she had a way to find my warrior, as I knew she must. From that memory I was able to see what she had done—her sending was meant to warn you all about the ring. I focused all my attention on that ring, on that memory, and I found it. I found the small ring resting at the bottom of the sea. The sea, Andoral. She could not be there, alive at least, and still be here in the fade with me. I knew the sending must have already reached one of you then.

"I thought perhaps the flesh-mother had beaten me then, for just a moment. But then I thought on my warrior's living, unconscious form back in the mortal realm, and how it must look wan and dead without her spirit within it. And I considered how he," Urthemiel spat the word, refusing the say Alistair's name, "would be worrying about her, trying to find some way to take her away from me. And the only one who could ever do that, dear brother, is you. It was you who pulled her from me last time. Surely he would seek you out, and he is just fool enough to bring my bride with him. And I have sensed you drawing near for some time, brother, despite your attempts to mask your presence from me behind that mortal's flimsy mind.

"All I had to do, brother, was watch you, and wait while everything I needed was brought right here, to me, as I wanted. And here you are, as I expected. I had thought it might take a little more effort, on my part, to find her at this point. But it was my good fortune that my little elf mage poppet sent her own final message into the fade, to me. She was proud of herself you see. She told me how she had destroyed my flesh father. She clearly failed at that, of course, but I expect as much from mortals. But the message still had value to me. She was clear enough on one point; he is here, and so is Lyssa. After that, I knew there was nothing anyone could do to stop me… save you, perhaps." Urthemiel said.

"You cannot do this thing," Andoral said.

"I can, I must, and I will, for my future bride. But do not fear overmuch, Andoral. I shall only destroy your vessel; I shall not bind you as we were bound before. As you said, you have a guide ready to take you to the other side. Soon, you will care about this worthless plane no longer," Urthemiel said.

Andoral had heard enough. He knew his course of action was set now; Urthemiel had chosen his path and would not be swayed from it. The taint had warped his mind beyond the point of reason. Andoral reached out toward the throne with his hand, and flung his power out to encircle it. He yanked it off the dais, stone cracking thunderously in the chamber as it tore itself away from the massive dais it was part of. Andoral brought his hand swinging through the air in Urthemiel's direction, and the throne whipped though the air and crashed into Urthemiel. Its momentum was unimpeded by the contact, and it carried Urthemiel across the entire room. It smashed against the wall, Urthemiel beneath it, and the entire wall exploded in huge rocks and small boulders of stone, flying out in every direction. The echoing crashes as the rock bounced off walls and slid across floors reverberated through the entire thaig as the throne fell away from the wall, Urthemiel stuck bloodied and disheveled to it..

Urthemiel raised first one arm, and then the other, off the throne. He pushed himself up in a quick motion, springing forward into the air and landing smoothly on both feet. He raised his hand to his lip and wiped away a streak of blood. He looked at the blood on his fingers. He smiled as he began to brush at the dust and debris on his clothes, and as he did so they became clean and spotless. A second later and he looked no worse than he had before the mighty blow, save the small trickle of blood that remained at his lip.

He turned toward Andoral then and raised his hand, snapping it into a fist while pointing far above into the empty air that stretched up several hundred feet above Andoral's head. He pulled down, and a huge portion of the stone ceiling from far above came crashing down impossibly fast, compelled by both its own weight and his will, onto Andoral. Andoral and Wynne disappeared beneath the huge slab as it slammed into the ground. Huge sections of the ceiling, some nearly as large as the first, continued to fall after the first impact for a few moments, several dozen tons of rock lay piled on where Andoral and Wynne had just been standing.

In the moment of impact Andoral heard an anguished yelp and then nothing. He tried not to think on it, tried not to allow emotion to interfere at a time like this. He turned his attention to himself. He could feel his bones breaking and crushing into his organs as the boulder began to press him to the ground. And then he felt very little from his body. He focused all his strength inward and pushed out with a great kinetic force. The debris covering Andoral and Wynne flew out in all directions, boulders smashing into walls and shattering, dust from all the impact swirled through the air of the huge open room.

One of the fragments, a huge spear of rock several feet long and almost half as wide flew through the air toward Urthemiel. He staggered backward several steps as the rock hit him in the gut and then continued on through; ripping through his abdomen, carrying entrails with is as it flew through the air to land with a wet thud against the back wall of the throne room and then bounce back onto the floor.

The ground trembled with the force of all the bouncing stones and boulders. The room was a shambles now. It looked nothing like the carefully designed and intricately carved dwarven hall it had been. It now looked like a raw, ragged hole that had been blasted out of the mountain that very moment by some vengeful god.

The dust surrounding Andoral gave him just a moment to grieve the loss of Wynne. He reached down and touched the body of the Mabari hound softly. She was already gone, and there was nothing for it. He knew he would lose his flesh soon, and it was better that she go first, rather than remain by his discarded flesh, starving to death while she protected his remains or falling herself to the scavengers that would eventually come. Andoral forced himself to look away from Wynne, and readied himself for the next attack.

Urthemiel looked down at the hole in his stomach and passed his hand over it. The flesh began knitting itself back together as Urthemiel stumbled toward the dust cloud where he had last seen Andoral. He blew out gently, as if to extinguish a candle, and the whole cloud of debris rushed out of the room in what could only be described as a wind storm, driven out and down every tunnel that still remained open to the throne room. Andoral braced his feet against the floor and leaned in to the gale to avoid being blasted out of the room with the fine particles.

Urthemiel reached out and clenched his fist, the very air around Andoral imitating his action. Andoral felt his insides being crushed by an invisible force. Andoral reached out with his mind, seeking for some advantage he might get over his brother. He found a vein of steaming hot water running through the walls. The water was heated by a lava flow that ran parallel to it deep underground. Andoral reached out and broke open the wall that hid the vein of water. The super heated liquid sprayed out, colliding with Urthemiel with tremendous force.

Urthemiel screamed from the pain and fell to the ground, releasing his grip on Andoral. As soon as Andoral felt the pressure release from him, he quickly concentrated on healing himself before turning his attention back to Urthemiel. But Urthemiel had not stopped to heal himself. He had not even bothered to move out of the stream of the high pressure, super heated geyser that was blistering his skin and blasting it away from his body in large chunks. Ignoring the pain, Urthemiel reached out and grabbed Andoral with his power. He tossed Andoral straight up with every ounce of strength he could muster. Andoral's body hurled through the air faster than a cannon. When it impacted with the ceiling far above it didn't slow at all. His body drilled into the stone above for almost a mile. The body was scraped clean of much of its flesh as it burrowed through the stone before it finally burst out from the ground high above the thaig. Andoral's battered body continued to soar up and back at an angle, flying through the air to land with a dull thud on the beach he had so recently traveled up. Battered and dying, Andoral lie unconscious, unable to heal himself as the salty water washed over the scraps of flesh, muscle and bone that had once made up Duncan Theirin.

Urthemiel stepped out of the steaming water and tensed himself. He healed what blistered flesh remained, and replaced that which had been scoured away. He felt the skin grow over naked muscle. He steadied himself as the pain of the healing clawed at his raw body. When it was finished, Urthemiel walked up to the new shaft of light Andoral's body had cut through the ceiling of the throne room. He looked up the shaft as a small unidentifiable piece of Andoral dropped down on his face.

"I am sorry brother. Tis a pity you could not see things my way," Urthemiel said as he reached out with his mind, just to double-check. He could no longer sense Andoral's presence in this world.

Urthemiel stepped out of the shaft of light and headed out into the forgotten thaig to look for the final thing he would need to complete his plan.


	17. Chapter 17 : Desperate Measures

_**Chapter 17 : Desperate Measures**_

Gildre watched Alistair pacing the deck, intermittently stopping to look toward the captain's cabin, expectantly. After a moment, he'd go back to pacing. Gildre was trying not to look at the cabin himself. At the moment, he was studiously watching Bigfoot and Dread raise the small skiff and secure it to the boat. Gildre didn't want to look at the room because every time he did, he remembered the promise he had made to Morrigan.

When Alistair had met back up with them after speaking with Duncan, he had brusquely rushed past them all and stormed into the cabin to check on Lyssa. But ever since he had come back out, minutes later, he had paced the deck, watching the shore, silent and agitated. He hadn't told any of them what was going on since he'd returned, only barked a few sharp orders to ready the boat to sail and keep watch. None of the other companions knew what Duncan had told Alistair, all they knew is that Alistair had come back in a very somber mood. Gildre decided that someone must find out what was going on, and it looked like that task had fallen to him.

Gildre walked over to Alistair and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Is there anything we should do?" Gildre asked. Alistair didn't answer immediately, his mind completely occupied by the situation he had finally come to accept he could do nothing about.

"No... at least I don't think so," Alistair said, his attention finally moving from the shore, and his dark visions of what might be happening there, to Gildre. "Duncan said we should stay out at sea. So I guess we'll stay here and wait. Lyssa should wake if... when Duncan destroys his brother. Then we'll know everything is alright," Alistair said.

"Then we go back and get Duncan?" Gildre asked.

"That is my intention..." Alistair said. He thought to himself, at the very least we will pick up his remains to return to Denerim.

"This is weird, standing around, biding our time like this. I feel like we should be doing something," Gildre said nervously.

"I know how you feel," Alistair said staring out at Highever. Gildre could see that Alistair was deeply troubled, even more than he had been during the entire trip here. Alistair had learned something during his talk with Duncan that was even more frightening, Gildre realized, than the thought of loosing Lyssa. Gildre didn't relish the idea of taking on another burden of quite that magnitude at the moment, so he let the small pause in conversation stretch into a lull. He and Alistair leaned on the railing next to each other, staring silently out towards the shore, hypnotized by the rocking of the water and the mad circles their minds were running.

The rest of the party tried to keep occupied while they waited. Sten, Dread and Bigfoot fussed at seeing so little combat during the mission. Alistair had eventually gone back in to the captain's cabin to sit with Lyssa while they waited. Connor had wandered over after that and pulled up a barrel to sit on next to Gildre, and they continued to watch the shore together. After what seemed like an hour or so, a deafening thumping sound was heard coming from the ground just to the west of Highever's port.

Alistair came running out of the Captain's cabin startled. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Connor said hopping off of his barrel. "It came from over there."

Connor pointed to a rocky outcrop just off the shore. The huge noise blasted out again, the sound of stone being torn from stone erupted. A moment later, the terrible crash came again, from the direction of the shoreline.

"The gods move the very mountains when they battle," Bigfoot said in awe as he stared out at the trembling earth.

"Such a battle as that," Dread said standing up a little straighter. "Even the Q'unari would not be able to stand up to that power."

Sten turned and looked at Dread scowling. Dread looked at the ground in shame.

Suddenly, another terrible noise exploded from the outcrop. Something burst through the top of the stone and arced high into the air before landing in a heap on the beach. Gildre closed his eyes and turned away. He didn't even want to guess what is was that had been expelled from the mountain. Connor ran to the edge of the boat and turned back to face Alistair, an unspoken question in his eyes.

Alistair barely looked at Connor as he nodded tersely. He found he could not tear his eyes away from the place on the beach where what he guessed was a body had just landed. Connor was over the side of the boat and in the skiff in a flash. Dread and Bigfoot hurried down behind him. Gildre and Sten lowered them to the water below.

Alistair watched as the tiny skiff sped away from Sten's ship, propelled by the magical wind that Connor summoned. The skiff was barely visible in the distance when Gildre shouted out in exclamation, "The fog! Look!"

Alistair turned to see a thick unnatural fog rolling out toward them. He closed his eyes as he realized that his son must be dead. Alistair's next thought was of Lyssa. He turned and walked slowly to the captain's cabin, leaving Sten and Gildre staring out at the strange fog. Alistair closed the door and sat on the bed next to Lyssa, pulling her against him so she rested against his chest. He carefully drew his sword and held it aloft, ready to strike down anything that came near.

Alistair looked down at Lyssa's limp body and touched the small amulet at her neck. He had put it on her the moment he had returned from talking with Duncan. As he touched it, the amulet shifted and the glass vial at its center glittered. He let his fingers drift off the amulet and down to the longer chain Lyssa always wore, his fingers stopping to gently grasp the amulet he had given her more than twenty years ago. He tilted it in the light so he could see the symbol of Andraste there. He felt a tear run warm and fast down one cheek. He let the amulet drop back against her skin.

"I'm so sorry," Alistair whispered into her hair.

When the door opened, Alistair jerked up from the bed, his sword up, ready to battle. But it was only Gildre, his own sword drawn, that he found outlined in the doorway.

"Shut the door," Alistair commanded.

Gildre turned and closed the door. When he looked back at Alistair, his gaze was cold. He slowly approached the bed, his blade still drawn.

"Gildre, the enemy is that way," Alistair said, watching Gildre closely.

"It has to be done, Alistair. We have lost. You know this," Gildre said evenly.

"We have not lost as long as we are alive. Now point that blade away from me or I swear it wouldn't matter if you were my own blood, I will strike you down," Alistair said leveling his sword at Gildre.

"You know what he'll do to her. You know what he will turn her in to, what her life will be with that abomination. Do you want that for Lyssa? Do you think that's what she would want?" as Gildre asked, his cheeks flushed hotly.

"If such a thing ever needs to be done, then I will be the one to do it." Alistair's tone was even and grim.

"No. No you won't. You say that now because you don't think it will ever come to that. That somehow, you are still going to find a way to save her. Even when he stands here before you ready to rip her away from you forever, I don't think you'll be able to do it. That's why I'm here. I must do this thing, for both of you," Gildre said. He was attempting to circle Alistair so he could get within striking distance of Lyssa.

"Gildre, don't make me do this," Alistair said readying himself.

"I'm sorry Alistair," Gildre said taking another step toward the bed.

Alistair lunged at Gildre. Gildre began to feint and Alistair shifted to compensate. But Gildre was an elf, and light of foot. He quickly performed the double feint they had all worked on together not so long ago, in the warm Seheron sun, and as Alistair flew by him Gildre raised the pommel of his sword and knocked Alistair out cold. Alistair collapsed onto the ground and did not move. Gildre turned back toward the bed. He looked down at Lyssa's prone body and gently touched her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Lyssa, but this is the only way to save you. It is for the best," Gildre said sadly. He raised his sword high over his head.

Then suddenly the boat shifted violently. Gildre fell back against the wall, banging his head. The blow caused his vision to vanish for a moment in an explosion of pain. As he grabbed his head, cursing, he felt blood running free through his hair. He knew he did not have much time, the abomination must be upon them. He quickly cast about and found his sword next to him on the ground. He got unsteadily to his feet, the violent rocking of the boat and his own sudden disorientation slowing him. His vision and balance finally responded to his will, and he focused on Lyssa. The violent blow to the ship had shifted her off and onto the floor, where she lie face up. He sprang towards her, his sword held high above him as he ran. Just as he was bringing the sword plunging down towards Lyssa's heart, her eyes flew open as she let out an ear-splitting scream.

**

Lyssa sat in the dark, huddled far in the corner of a bed, itself nestled snugly into the corner of the room, opposite the door. Urthemiel had brought her to this house, explaining to her that she would feel more comfortable there. Although there was nothing unnatural about this house, she still didn't feel any more comfortable. Urthemiel was constantly in and out of her room. He would periodically come in to see her, stroke her hair or her arm, then leave. Sometimes he seemed fine, the touches innocent, as if he were a child in wonder being shown that griffins were real. But other times Lyssa could tell he had to hold himself back, that he was restraining his emotions. When he was like that, his eyes were filled with lust and desire, and she could not stand to look at them.

During his last visit, a few minutes ago, he had been the innocent god. Urthemiel had come into the room, and sat at the foot of the bed. He seemed distant. Lyssa guessed he was concentrating on the physical world when he became still like that. Then Urthemiel had suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling.

"He is here. Finally. Soon," Urthemiel had said, placing his hand on Lyssa's foot. "Soon we will be together. There is just one more thing to take care of."

Then he had vanished and left her sitting in the dark. She had been huddled in the corner of the bed, worrying about what Urthemiel might be doing, ever since.

Just then Lyssa heard footsteps running through the house. She looked up at the door as it burst open. Duncan stood there panting.

"Mother! Come on, let's go," Duncan said holding out his hand.

Lyssa stared at Duncan, unbelieving. "This is not funny," she said coldly.

Duncan took a few steps forward and grabbed Lyssa's hand in his. His skin felt warm and familiar. He raised her ring finger and twisted the wedding band there. Lyssa pulled her hand toward her face and examined the ring.

"The ring Alistair gave me," she said puzzled, "How did it get here? I wasn't wearing it before."

"Yes. I gave it back to him just a little over an hour ago. Borrowed a trick from an old friend of yours so that I could find you quickly, wherever he had taken you. Come on, we don't have much time. Andoral only promised to buy me several minutes. We must leave," Duncan said pulling on his mother's arm.

"Andoral?" Lyssa asked standing.

"I can explain later, but for now, we have to go. We need to get to the ship before Urthemiel does. It is important you be near your body when he finds you, otherwise he might decide to kill father before he brings your soul back out of the fade," Duncan said.

"How did you get here, Duncan?" Lyssa asked as she followed her son through the house.

"We have been searching for Urthemiel for some time now. The darkspawn activity here led me to believe this was where he was holed up. But we could find no sign of Urthemiel on the surface. I figured he would protect himself by hiding underground. After some extensive research, I finally found a barely legible map of an old thaig that clearly ran under Highever, or at least very near it. We did our best to reconcile the few common reference points on the map we could make out and traveled here," Duncan said as he ran out onto the streets of Highever.

"You keep saying we. Do you mean the other Grey Wardens?" Lyssa asked. She had to jog to keep up with Duncan.

"No. I am referring to Andoral. He is an Old God. The Old God that Flemeth enslaved to be exact. Much in the same way Morrigan enslaved hers; though Flemeth was a bit trickier about it. He shares my body with me. Most of the time only one of us occupies the body, while the other waits in the fade. If we spent any more time than necessary in the body at the same time, I would have died long ago. The mortal body cannot sustain two souls without dire consequences. On rare occasions we have occupied it at the same time, but never for long. It has been this way since just after I was born," Duncan said.

"Since you were born?" Lyssa exclaimed.

"Yes, well, I wasn't a normal child. You know that. Existing with Andoral, well, it was really hard when I was little. I was constantly fearful I would forget the difference between what I was supposed to know and what I actually perceived. I remember I finally realized it was futile, that you were aware something was different about me. So I told you I remembered having dreams of darkspawn in the womb," Duncan said.

"You didn't?" Lyssa asked.

"No, I did. But I hadn't planned on telling you. I didn't want people to think I was… was anything but normal. Especially father. I hated having to finally tell him," Duncan said grimly.

Suddenly the whole ground shook beneath them. Lyssa had to steady herself so she didn't lose her balance.

"What was that?" she asked turning northwest to where the sound came from.

"They have begun to battle. Come on, let's hurry. We need to get further away. He won't be able to sense you easily with me here, but he can still see us with his eyes," Duncan said and he continued running.

"Who are they?" Lyssa asked.

"Urthemiel and Andoral," Duncan said as they reached the docks just as another earth shaking boom shook the ground beneath them.

Lyssa's eyes opened wide as she watched Duncan deftly take several quick steps across the surface of the water.

"Come on, we're in the fade, remember? Things work differently here," Duncan said reaching his hand back towards his mother.

Lyssa took a tentative step out into the water, fully expecting to splash right in. But her feet did not sink. Instead she walked across the water. It gave under her a little, as if it were slightly damp sand. Once Lyssa seemed sure of herself, she started jogging toward Duncan. He had already turned away from her and was dashing towards a small boat further out on the water. For the first time since she had met up with her son, Lyssa looked where they were going.

"Sten's ship!" She exclaimed.

"Yes, come on," Duncan said, running on towards the boat.

Lyssa hurried to catch up. They heard another loud crash and felt the water tremble beneath them. Duncan lurched and fell to his knees, panting. Lyssa ran up to him and put her arms around him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, helping him to stand.

"Yes... yes I think so. Andoral is badly injured. I am still tethered to my body until it dies. When it is injured like this..." Duncan stopped talking and simply panted for a few moments. The he got back to his feet and looked at Lyssa. "I'll be okay. Come on, we need to hurry," Duncan said, jogging towards the boat again, this time noticeably slower.

"Your body, is it okay?" Lyssa asked. Her voice was tinged with panic.

"Don't worry about that right now. We have to get to the ship. Come on," Duncan said.

Suddenly Lyssa stopped and felt her chest grow tight. Her feet started to slip backward toward the island.

"Oh no you don't," Duncan said, reaching out to grab Lyssa's wrist. As he touched her, Lyssa found herself suddenly able to breathe again.

"Urthemiel knows you're gone now. He's looking for you. He won't look long. He knows if he has your body he can call you back to him from wherever you are. Come on, just a little further, I promise," Duncan said pulling Lyssa toward the boat.

As he came within a few yards of the boat, Duncan bent his legs and jumped high into the air. He sailed high up, the arc of his ascent just leveling out as he lightly landed on the railing. Lyssa stared up at him, her mouth open. Duncan hopped down onto the deck of the boat and tossed Lyssa a rope.

"Don't worry, I don't expect you to be able to do that. You have to spend great deal of time with the fade before you can start bending it to your will. Here, climb up," Duncan called down to her.

Lyssa grabbed the rope and started to haul herself up. She climbed while Duncan pulled. Once Lyssa reached the top, she clambered over the railing and looked around the deck.

"Where is everyone?" Lyssa asked.

Duncan pointed out to the sea, and Lyssa could see a little skiff flickering in and out of sight.

"We can only see a kind of echo of them. Only Old Gods have the power to pull people in and out of the fade at will. Mages can do it, but not to anyone except themselves, and it takes a lot of work even then. Some demons can pull you in, but only if they are allowed into this world first by a mage that has weakened the veil," Duncan said.

"Is your father on that boat?" Lyssa asked staring out.

"No," Duncan said looking around. "Look, he is headed back to the cabin. Let's go. That's probably where you are."

Lyssa turned to see a flickering Alistair headed towards the captain's cabin. As Alistair flickered into view his body would glow from within with a bright light. She felt her heart lurch at the sight of him and ran forward after Duncan. They stepped into the room just as Alistair did, and Lyssa could see her body lying on the bed, unmoving.

"Why am I solid? Why don't I come in and out of view like the rest of them," Lyssa asked. She walked up to her body and reached out to touch it.

Duncan ran up and grabbed her hand. "No! Not yet. We have to wait. You aren't an echo like the rest of them. You are actually here, in the fade. Urthemiel found where you were through the fade, and then he yanked your soul here. Everyone is always tethered to the fade, even when they are conscious. That's why when we sleep, and our conscious mind lets go, we slip into the fade when we dream. Our soul is able to leave our bodies when we dream, and it follows the tether up to the fade. Your body is like this," Duncan gestured at the unmoving Lyssa on the bed, "because of the unnatural way in which you were brought into the fade."

"Why can't I touch it?" Lyssa asked. She was staring down at her body as Alistair moved it and pulled it across himself.

"Because you would return to it if you touched it," Duncan said, smiling at his father. "He loves you dearly," he said softly.

"Yes," Lyssa said, watching as Alistair raised his flickering sword to the door. "He is so bright. The light... I think I remember from before. From the first time I was taken. He was bright then as well. I have seen a few other people, why did they not glow like this?" Lyssa asked.

"It is because he is a Grey Warden. Or a Warrior of the Light as Andoral calls us. We all look like this. Andoral explained it to me, but it is complicated. We are still mortals, but we are different than the others," Duncan began.

"Why can't I return now?" Lyssa cut in, turning to Duncan.

"It isn't time. You have to trust me mother," Duncan said. He turned to the door as it opened. Gildre walked in holding a blade before him. Lyssa gasped. Gildre's flickering form also glowed brightly.

"But Gildre isn't a Grey Warden," Lyssa said surprised.

"Well, he hasn't gone through the joining, yet, that is true. But that doesn't mean he isn't a Grey Warden. You see mother, it isn't the taint we take during the joining that makes us Grey Wardens. The taint is just a test, nothing more," Duncan said, suddenly very intent on Gildre.

"What is he doing?" Lyssa asked as she saw Gildre approach Alistair, sword drawn.

"I believe he intends to kill you," Duncan sighed. "I had hoped he would be unable to bring himself to do it."

"What? Why does he wish to kill me?" Lyssa asked perplexed.

"When you spend as much time in the fade as I have, you get a chance to see many strange things. I saw a sending wandering the fade some time ago. It was of Morrigan. She didn't speak to me, as the sending was seeking out either you or Gildre. But the sending had been in the fade a long time. It had gone... a little strange. I was able to question it. Morrigan wanted Gildre to kill you if it looked like Urthemiel would find your body. She did it to try to save you from her fate, mother," Duncan said touching Lyssa's arm.

Lyssa felt a great sadness come over her as she thought of her old friend. She then turned and watched as Alistair charged Gildre. Gildre easily dodged him, knocking him out cold in the exchange.

"Now I wish I had made Alistair practice that move more," Lyssa said under her breath. Even in the flickering forms Gildre's double feint had been obvious to her.

"Yes, well father is neither an elf, nor a rogue. I don't think it would have helped him much," Duncan said. He walked over to the far edge of the room, to the hull of the ship. Just as Gildre raised his sword to strike, Duncan jumped and landed impossibly heavily, causing the whole boat to rock. Lyssa watched as Gildre stumbled backward into the wall, knocking himself unconscious.

"Well, now they are both out cold. I guess we'll just have to hope Urthemiel pays them little mind. I can't go to them now, I need to be here," Duncan said.

"They are in the fade... but not here. This is what you were talking about before, wasn't it?" Lyssa asked as she bent down and looked at the flickering Alistair.

"Yes. This part of the fade is where Andoral and Urthemiel often travel. The demons cannot travel this part of the fade, and dreaming mortals and investigative mages rarely wander in," Duncan said, sitting on the bed. "It makes it easy for the Old Gods to go about unnoticed."

"What do we do now?" Lyssa asked.

"We wait. He will come. He's probably very close now," Duncan said wearily.

Lyssa turned to him concerned. She sat down on the bed next to him and reached up to touch his face.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Duncan reached up and touched her hand smiling broadly. "I finally get to see you, really see you, just you and me. I'm better than okay. I've spent my whole life peeking out from behind a mask. I've never... I've never actually been able to really feel it when you touched me, or held me. It was always filtered through him. This, here, with you now. This is nice. Andoral kept me apart from my own life, to protect me from Urthemiel. To keep him from finding me... and from finding you, too soon. I wanted so badly to spend time with you and father, as just me. The real me. I knew it, intellectually, that sometimes my actions or lack of emotion hurt you, but Andoral kept me from feeling it. And I couldn't push my feeling back out through him to you. But I have always loved and respected you both.

"Please tell father how much I truly love him. That I always wanted to be the son he imagined; the boy who enjoyed playing and laughing at his jokes. He is so very funny. He has brought me so much laughter, but here, in the fade. Here I was laughing, even if Andoral could not, or would not let it show through... I asked him for more time with father as well... but there will be no more time now."

Lyssa grabbed Duncan's hands. "What do you mean there will be no more time?"

"It isn't the taint that is killing me, mother. It is Andoral. His presence has destroyed my body. I cannot go back to it. Even now I am just barely tethered to it, waiting for it to die. Andoral is doing everything he can to keep it breathing, but he was always just playing for time. It is you who must do the real work now mother. I wish we could talk more, but... Urthemiel approaches. I must tell you what you need to do, and quickly," Duncan said.


	18. Chapter 18 : Hope's End

_**Chapter 18 : Hope's End**_

Gildre stared down into Lyssa's eyes, his blade halted so close to Lyssa's chest she could feel it.

"What are you doing, Gildre?" Lyssa asked, pushing the blade aside as she leaned forward. "Are you crazy?"

Gildre opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. Wordlessly, he backed away from Lyssa, dropping his sword on the ground as he did.

Lyssa stood up and ran over to Alistair. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled at him. He rolled over, groaning.

"What did you do to Alistair?" Lyssa asked over her shoulder.

"He... I," Gildre stammered.

"It's okay Lyssa, I'm fine. He just... he was trying to save you from the Old God is all," Alistair said as Lyssa helped him to his feet.

"The Old God? But Duncan took care of that. Everything is fine now," Lyssa said.

"He did? Good lad," Alistair said smiling sunnily, "Now everything is peachy. We should celebrate. How do you celebrate fratricide these days? Hmm... I can think of a way..."

Gildre watched uncomfortably as Alistair began kissing Lyssa's neck.

"Alistair," Lyssa said pushing him away and turning to look at Gildre.

"Oh, it's not like he hasn't seen it before," Alistair said. He lifted Lyssa up and tossed her onto the bed.

"Actually, I haven't. And as much as I like you both, I would kind of prefer not to," Gildre said, blushing a little.

"Liar," Lyssa said turning to Gildre as Alistair removed his tunic.

"What?" Gildre stammered, backing up into the wall and reaching for the door. But he could not find the door knob for the life of him.

"Oh, I think she's right," Alistair said turning to Gildre. He walked over and put his hand over Gildre's shoulder, leaning into the wall and against Gildre. He slowly pressed himself in, his nose nearly touching Gildre's. Alistair's eyes locked onto Gildre's; his lips were very close to Gildre's now as he said, "I think you would like very much to watch. I think you would like even more to join."

Gildre swallowed hard as Alistair reached up and touched Gildre's cheek. Gildre ducked under Alistair's arm and searched the wall for the doorknob.

"Oh poo," Lyssa said rolling over on her stomach and putting her chin in her hands. "You've scared him away. I told you not to be so aggressive!"

Alistair laughed as Gildre stumbled, feeling along the walls for a knob or latch, something to get him out. Then he tried to remember how he had gotten here, how this had started. He touched his head gently, wincing at a phantom pain. His hand came back without any blood on it.

"I'm unconscious," he said to himself. "This is the fade."

"Bra-vo," a voice said from the shadows of the room. Gildre turned toward the voice and saw Urthemiel stride in to view. He was clapping slowly as he approached. "Is this where she is? A room that looks like this? Now that shouldn't be too hard to find. There are only so many ships in the harbor, after all."

Gildre found himself awestruck by the beauty of the man that stood before him. He gaped at Urthemiel for a several moments. Then he snapped his open mouth shut and hurriedly turned away from Urthemiel, scanning the walls again.

Urthemiel picked up the sword Gildre had dropped and looked at it. "You were going to kill her, I see. Someone must have intervened. Good thing too. I would have been quite angry. And I would have needed a new plaything."

Gildre turned away from the wall. He realized his search for an exit was futile. He was in the fade with a god; his reality was the god's to control. He pressed himself against the walls, recalling what Morrigan's sending had told him.

"Oh, don't be so frightened. I wouldn't hurt you. At least not yet. You are a pretty thing though, aren't you?" Urthemiel said, coming closer to Gildre. The Lyssa and the Alistair in the room laughed at this statement.

Urthemiel reached up and slid open Gildre's tunic, running his hand down Gildre's chest.

"Yes, quite lovely. Another time perhaps. For now, these two little copies I have whipped up should keep you properly occupied," Urthemiel said as he moved to stand behind Alistair. The copy of Alistair grinned at Gildre.

Gildre flinched. He turned away from the doppelgangers in the bed.

"Oh come now," Urthemiel said. "You can't fool me. Your mind is full of such... lovely visions. Yet here you are, acting as if I'm making you suffer."

"This is not the same," Gildre said as loudly as he dared. "And you know it. They would never act like this."

Urthemiel sighed. "Mortals. You are all the same. We give you what you want and you throw it back in our faces. Fine. My bride would not appreciate it if I damaged you, despite the fact that you wanted to kill her. She is sentimental that way. Since I have no particular grievance with you at the moment, I will leave you here to your own devices. Stay out of trouble now. I would hate to have to kill you, but if I must, I'm sure my bride would eventually understand."

Then he was gone. Gildre watched, relieved, as the copies of Lyssa and Alistair vanished as well. He looked around the room. There was still no door or window of any kind. He slumped to the floor and put his head in his hands, praying to Mythal to protect those he loved.

**

Alistair pushed himself up off the floor as fast as he could, dragging his sword weakly behind him, the tip scraping the ground as he charged towards where he'd last seen Gildre. He stumbled to a stop when his blurry vision cleared enough that he made out not Gildre before him, but Lyssa. She lie on the bed, motionless as she was before. He walked over to her and put his hand on her head. He traced her jaw line down to her neck, and then stared at the space where her clavicle dipped towards her chest, with a puzzled look.

"I know you, flesh father," Urthemiel said from the back of the room.

Alistair did not look up. He placed his hand on Lyssa's chest. Duncan's amulet, the one he had made for Lyssa, wasn't there anymore. He reached up to his own neck and grabbed his medallion, the metal cool in his hand.

"What is it you want exactly?" Alistair asked without turning around. He found he did not want to look into the face of the god that was his son.

"I think you know what I want," Urthemiel said.

"My own son wishes to take my wife from me? It is true then, the stories of the gods. Lying with their sisters. Breeding with their mothers," Alistair said contemptuously.

Urthemiel laughed heartily. "I have never lain with my sisters, flesh father. And she is not my mother. You are hardly my father. You donated an ingredient, part of the recipe for an old spell. Nothing more. You provided the flesh that I used to create my body. Very little of you exists in me. I am no child of yours. I have existed for ages before you, and will live long after you are gone, which will be very soon. I will exist for as long as I wish, with or without this body."

"You cannot have her," Alistair growled.

"No? Well, that is for her to decide is it not? She does not belong to you, after all," Urthemiel mused.

Alistair turned enraged, "She will never go with you!"

Urthemiel looked into Alistair's eyes and smiled, "We shall see. I think you might be surprised at what she would do. How long must she have lied to you about me, about our first visit together," Urthemiel said. Alistair's eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth, "Ahhh, yes. It bothers you. My brother, he did me such favors, though he knew it not."

Urthemiel came closer to Alistair. Alistair stood, brandishing his sword.

Urthemiel chuckled, "Well. I look forward to meeting you in person. I will make sure you join your son quickly. It is the least I can do."

Alistair struck out with his sword, but it passed through empty air. Urthemiel vanished before Alistair's sword began its arc. Alistair dropped heavily onto the bed and pulled out a tattered old cloth from his tunic. He held it to his face and inhaled, imagining he could smell the sweet grass of Highever there.

**

Sten paced the deck of his boat impatiently. He was watching the fog roll in around the ship. He had seen Gildre follow Alistair into the cabin, and had noted the look in the elf's eyes. Sten was concerned; he could guess at the elf's intentions. The message the witch woman had sent to Gildre had been clear. If the Old God managed to find Lyssa's body, he would visit such horrors upon her that nothing would be able to make her whole again.

Sten did not enjoy waiting for battle; he wished they were already in the heat of it. But if he was going to have any chance of slaying a god, then wait he must. As the fog rolled thicker and opaquely around him, Sten readied his massive blade and listened carefully. He could hear water lapping softly against the ship, and the creaking of the wood as the boat swayed back and forth, straining against the anchor.

Then Sten saw a man come out from the fog. He was tall and dark haired. Sten raised his sword and moved forward cautiously, creeping closer to the man. The man seemed unaware of Sten's presence, striding across the deck confidently. Sten doubted one could sneak up on a god anyway, so he boldly stepped out in front of the approaching shape, blocking its path to the cabin.

"Q'unari?" Urthemiel said questioningly, "I haven't seen one of your kind in a very long time. It has been many ages since you threw us out of your lands."

"You do not look very impressive for a god," Sten said, pointedly staring down at Urthemiel.

"No?" Urthemiel said amused.

"You look like an over-large elf," Sten said.

"Ah. Well, I suppose I should take that as a compliment. The elves are lovely creatures, are they not," Urthemiel asked.

"Frivolous preoccupation with physical attributes," Sten muttered. "These traits do not make one a better fighter. This is why the Q'unari are superior. We choose mates based on prowess and strength, not based on hair color or the texture of skin," Sten said.

"Right," Urthemiel said sarcastically. "I'm sorry if I don't believe you on that. Sure your females are big and strong, but I seem to remember the Q'unari valuing certain other... attributes as well. But if you wish to delude yourselves, by all means. It matters not to me."

"You know nothing of the Q'unari. You are a foolish god. Too foolish to move along when you are no longer needed, nor wanted" Sten said.

"My, you are chatty for a Q'unari. The last one I met had seventeen kinds of grunt that he used to converse with. I think I preferred that. Move aside. You are of the light. I do not wish to kill you needlessly," Urthemiel said.

Urthemiel moved to enter the cabin and Sten swung his sword. The blade connected and sliced through Urthemiel's arm. Urthemiel looked down at his blood splattered clothing and sighed. The wound was already closing. Urthemiel waved his hand over the arm, and he was whole and unmarked, his clothes unmarred by the blade. Sten's eyes widened and he took a step back.

"That was not too bright, Q'unari," Urthemiel said, his amber eyes flashing with anger.

Sten growled and charged Urthemiel. Urthemiel lifted his hand and Sten found himself struck motionless, frozen for a split second leaning acutely forward. Then with a small flick of his wrist, Urthemiel flung Sten's body away from him. The Q'unari sailed far out into the ocean for several seconds before he splashed into the water. Urthemiel had already turned back toward the cabin door and was walking towards it.


	19. Chapter 19 : Warriors of Light

_**Chapter 19 : Warriors of Light**_

Lyssa stared down at her body. She was alone again, here in the fade. Duncan had left, explaining that he needed to return to his body to help Andoral pass into the fade. Duncan had said he could not be there when Urthemiel arrived, or their plan would never work. Lyssa steadied herself and waited.

When the door finally opened, Lyssa jumped a little, despite herself. Urthemiel walked in and smiled when he saw Lyssa standing over her own body.

"And here you are! Well, this has worked out really splendidly," Urthemiel said.

Lyssa reached down and touched her body. She felt the curious sensation of being pulled downward, falling through a distance much further than the few feet that separated her from her body. For a moment, she felt as if the world was fading out around her, becoming soft and distantly indistinct. Then everything went black for a moment.

Lyssa opened her eyes and took in a great breath of air. She sat up on the bed and looked around. Gildre and Alistair were there on the floor. Urthemiel was ignoring them completely, much to Lyssa's relief. Instead he was looking at her.

When her eyes finally fell on Urthemiel, Lyssa felt herself suddenly relax. His skin seemed to glow softly, as if the blood that ran through his veins was light itself. His amber eyes were bottomless orbs of honey colored liquid. Gold flecks within them sparked when they caught the light. Lyssa tried to look away, but found she could not. She was transfixed by the sight of him, just as Duncan said she would be.

"Now then," Urthemiel said. And when he spoke his voice was more lulling and compelling than the most talented bard in all the land. It reached out through the air, a physical thing, and covered Lyssa with a warm, luxurious sensation. "I think tis time we consummated this relationship. I do believe I have been quite patient with you, but you are my bride, and I think you know what that means comes next."

Urthemiel sat on the bed next to Lyssa. Lyssa could feel the warmth of his skin curl out across the space between them and caress her. The heat that emanated from him washed across her and Lyssa found, to her shame, that it intensified her lust for him. It reached out and wrapped around her in soft, warm tendrils, snaking around her skin with gentle caresses. Lyssa knew this was part of Urthemiel's power, that he was particularly good at seduction. It was why he eventually became the god of beauty. Despite knowing exactly what he was doing to her, Lyssa still found it terribly difficult to resist him. Urthemiel had been right. Refusing a god in the flesh was a much more demanding effort than her efforts in the fade.

Urthemiel reached up and touched her face, leaning in to her. She knew she would have to do this next thing, to force herself to act the part. He needed to believe she wanted him. He needed to let his guard down, so Lyssa could get close. Urthemiel needed to believe Lyssa would not deny him. She needed to be able to go to the innermost places within him, places reserved for only those the god chose to link himself with. So she let him kiss her and pull her to him, despite her desire to withdraw. Although she found the growing revulsion was only just outpacing her body's lust.

Urthemiel touched his lips to hers, letting them brush against her. His eyes were half closed, the lashes barely touching her cheek as he blinked, looking into Lyssa's midnight blue eyes. Then he pressed his lips to hers, parting Lyssa's lips with his own. He tasted her mouth with his tongue, experiencing the pleasure of the soft, warm muscle there.

Urthemiel pressed himself against Lyssa, still kissing her. Lyssa tried not to respond any more than she felt she had to, but his skin was so soft and warm. She could feel her body heat up from the contact. She knew she would have to act quickly or his power would envelop her, and she would lose control of herself. She did as Duncan told her, and she imagined pushing herself through him, as if she were made of pure, intangible light. She could feel Urthemiel responding to this push, the subtle suggestion in Lyssa's will; the connection that only a warrior of the light could make with one such as him. He willingly gave her power, feeding it to her through their connection. Lyssa pulled his power into her, and when she opened her eyes, she could see the world around her flickering. She was now half in the fade, and half out. She concentrated on Urthemiel, wrapping her mind around his, and she used the power he had just given her to push her very essence into him. Urthemiel let out a little gasp at the feeling of Lyssa so intimately connecting with him. This was what he had been dreaming of for so long. Lyssa could see nothing but light as Urthemiel moved over her, pressing himself against her, his arousal obvious. His hands were moving down Lyssa's stomach, but Lyssa was only vaguely aware of her physical body now. She had left her flesh behind, focusing her mind on moving through Urthemiel's body. She imagined her own body of light poking bright spears of energy through every part of the god's body as she pushed through it. She thought she could see small blobs of darkness exploding in brief hot bursts of white light as she passed through Urthemiel.

When she felt she had explored him completely, she began to pull back. She began to become aware of her physical body again now. She could feel him touching her, and she panicked a little. She felt her mind return fully to her body in a final rush. Immediately she pushed herself away from him, backing up on the bed. Urthemiel opened his eyes, startled at the sudden change. He looked at her, genuinely hurt by her rejection. Lyssa almost went to him.

His eyes were so full of pain… Lyssa found herself thinking.

But she held herself back. She wasn't certain how much longer she would remain in control of her own body. Now was the moment of truth. Either Urthemiel would force himself on her, unable to control himself, or, if Lyssa had succeeded in cleansing him, he would finally realize what it was he was doing.

"Why do you pull away from me?" Urthemiel asked, reaching out with his hand like a lost child.

"I love another," Lyssa said simply.

Urthemiel looked from Lyssa to the ground, where Alistair still lie unconscious. Lyssa watched Urthemiel carefully, steadying herself. If she had failed, nothing could save her from what would happen next.

Urthemiel looked up at Lyssa, and she did not see any rage there. The darkness that had always filled his eyes whenever she mentioned Alistair before did not surface this time. Lyssa was afraid to allow herself to believe it had worked.

"I," Urthemiel started, his eyes full of pain. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Lyssa nodded slowly. "Yes. There has never been a doubt in my mind."

Urthemiel looked away from Lyssa then. Lyssa could just see his profile, as a clear drop traveled down his cheek and quivered on the jaw line, refusing to drop away.

"I am sorry. I have mistreated you. I... don't understand why. I feel strange," Urthemiel said.

Lyssa stared at Urthemiel for a moment, hesitating. Finally, she trusted her instincts and reached out to him. She touched his arm gently. The skin was still unbelievably soft, but Lyssa no longer felt the warm, compelling heat rolling off it. Urthemiel was no longer using his power to seduce her.

"I am sorry I had to trick you. I trespassed where only a lover should go. But... you are now cleansed of the taint, as you should have been long ago," Lyssa said carefully.

Urthemiel turned and looked down at Lyssa's hand. "I did... have the taint. Yes... now that it is gone... Andoral was right. I thought..." Urthemiel trailed off looking down at Alistair.

"Flesh father. I planned to kill him. And I did so many things... how can I ever atone for the things I have done?" Urthemiel asked helplessly.

Lyssa shook her head. "You are a god. I do not know how such things apply to the likes of beings such as yourself. I do know Andoral does not blame you for your actions. He awaits you in the fade. I am to tell you there is a guide who will take you from here."

"You will not be going with me then," Urthemiel said. But before Lyssa could speak, Urthemiel had glanced back down at Alistair and answered his own question, "No. I suppose not. I would have liked to have made this journey with you. But... perhaps my last bride still waits for me beyond the fade. One can hope."

Urthemiel turned suddenly to Lyssa, his eyes sad. "I fear I have stolen something precious from you. I'm afraid I cannot return it. I wish I could, but even gods do not have such powers."

Lyssa looked at Urthemiel, confused, for a moment. Urthemiel cocked his head, as if straining to overhear a conversation. After a moment, he reached forward and grabbed Lyssa by the hand. Urthemiel closed his eyes and Lyssa felt a strange sensation sweep through her. It was not painful. It was something akin to a tickle. It was as if something was being pulled out from inside of her, tiny threads tugging something out of her, all over her body at once. When Urthemiel opened his eyes he pulled his hand away, looking down at a small, shiny black ball in his palm.

"So small. Strange that it could have such effects. Stranger still that you should inflict it upon yourselves. But I suppose it is the only way for you to be sure," Urthemiel said cryptically.

Lyssa stared at the black thing in his hand before he turned and leaned down to Alistair. He grabbed Alistair's hand and closed his eyes. Lyssa saw Alistair twitch a little. Then Urthemiel pulled away. He stood and walked over to the dresser. He dropped the two small balls in a cup on top of the dresser. They clanked when they hit the bottom of the cup. Urthemiel turned back to Lyssa.

"It is time. I should go before he wakes. I do not know if he will be as forgiving as you are, dear warrior," Urthemiel said gesturing down to Alistair. "Will you... accompany me a little while longer? I... am a little afraid, to be honest. I would be comforted by your presence."

"Where do you want me to go?" Lyssa asked.

"To the fade, for a short while. You can also say goodbye to your son, for he lingers there still. But I understand if you do not wish to come with me. I have been unacceptably evil and cruel. I have shamed myself and my race. I do not deserve your aid, I know. But it has been a long time since I feared anything," Urthemiel said.

Lyssa looked up at Urthemiel for a moment before holding out her hand. He took it, smiling. "Thank you," he said shyly.

Then Lyssa found herself being pulled again. Her vision blurred for a split second, and then she was looking around and at the foggy realm of the fade, the true fade that she remembered from long ago when the sloth demon had taken her there. Urthemiel was gripping her hand, much like a frightened child would. Lyssa looked around and saw Duncan break out of the fog ahead, running towards them. He was glowing so brightly, it was difficult for Lyssa to look directly at him. Urthemiel's grip loosened on her hand when he saw Duncan, and his face went slack with a calm expression. Duncan smiled at Urthemiel for a moment before he spoke.

"I knew you would be able to do it, mother. I told Andoral he could trust you," Duncan said.

Lyssa moved forward and embraced her son tightly.

"I'm so sorry! Why did you not tell me sooner? Perhaps I could have saved you," Lyssa said stoking her son's hair.

"There was no other way for it. Only a warrior of light could have cleansed him. Andoral never planned for you to be a part of it. He thought he could convince Urthemiel to let me cleanse him. But the moment Urthemiel first took you two years ago, we both feared that he might not be able to be reasoned with. But by then, it was too late for me. Even if Andoral left my body right then, I wouldn't have lived out the year. We knew you were the only one who could get close enough to Urthemiel to cleanse him. He had to believe someone really loved him, worshipped him, to let them in. And it wasn't something he'd let anyone do until he thought he was safe, which meant he had to believe Andoral was dead. As long as Andoral was alive, Urthemiel would be wary and cautious.

"It helped that Urthemiel honestly believed no one could resist him in the flesh. He believed you were his the moment you set your eyes on him. It is like you always said with the double feint. Once the attacker thinks he knows your move, he throws caution to the wind. Urthemiel did not know how stubborn both you and father can be," Duncan said laughing.

Lyssa glanced at Urthemiel, who was looking guilty.

"You have to go then? Your body cannot be healed?" Lyssa asked, tears coming to her eyes.

"My body is beyond repair. Even if the flesh could be mended, I would have little time now. And I made a promise to Andoral many years ago. They wish to go to Plenarius. They have suffered enough for their choice, for their faith in us. Being corrupted, it is not something to be relished. Besides...it is our purpose," Duncan said.

"Our purpose?" Lyssa asked confused.

"You are warriors of light," a voice said from behind Duncan.

Lyssa peered around Duncan's shoulder to see a huge man, a man larger than even a Q'unari, lumbering towards them. His bulk was immense, and Lyssa found his silver eyes to be strangely piercing, as if he was looking into her mind when he looked at her. Lyssa wondered what kind of creature he was, for surely no man had ever been that large. Huge chains jangled around his arms with each heavy step he took.

"Mother," Duncan said turning and gesturing to the man. "This is Andoral. He is the god of chains."

Lyssa looked up at the huge man. "The god of chains?"

"Yes," Andoral said. His voice was so deep it made Lyssa's insides vibrate uncomfortably, "I am also called the god of justice. When we were still worshiped, it was I who sat in judgment of men. If they were wicked, it was my duty to make sure they were punished for their crimes."

Lyssa looked at the huge chains encircling Andoral's arms. Each link was easily as big as her forearm. Urthemiel approached Andoral and stood before him for a moment. The juxtaposition of the two gods would have seemed humorous to Lyssa had they both not emanated such an aura of slightly menacing otherworldliness. Urthemiel's beauty was unmatched by anything she had ever seen, and Andoral looked like a child's dream of what a god of war would look like; impossibly massive, nearly three times the size of Urthemiel, powerful muscles bulging from every part of his body. She found it hard to believe he could have been defeated by Urthemiel in battle.

Urthemiel reached out and the two gods gripped each other's forearms for a moment.

"I am sorry, my brother," Urthemiel said sincerely.

"I cannot say I am blameless. When trapped in my dragon form, I performed many atrocities against the mortals. Perhaps the evil that corrupts us is a lesson in humility. We are not above reproach. We too, can fall prey to the evils of our base desires. It is a lesson we have both learned well. Perhaps it is one we needed to learn before we would be ready to join our brothers and sisters on the other side," Andoral said.

Lyssa turned back to Duncan. "You spoke of our purpose. Is this another duty of the Grey Wardens?"

"It is not a duty," Urthemiel said turning to Lyssa. "It is your purpose for being. Or, that is what our old tales tell us."

"I don't understand. You said I was a warrior of light before, that I was born this way." Lyssa said.

"Yes," Urthemiel answered. "You are different. Gods are not so unlike mortals, in some ways. We too have our legends. One tells us that long ago, all that existed was light and dark, goodness and evil. These two things are eternal, never being created, and never ceasing to exist. Wherever light and dark touch and mingle, life exists. Life of all kinds. All life has some good, and some evil in it. Some life has more good, and some life has more evil. The darkspawn you know of, they are of this darkness almost completely. They are the parts of the darkness that stole just enough of the light to physically manifest. They have always been, and they ever shall be."

"Where do gods fit in with all of this," Lyssa asked.

"We do not know how we came about," Andoral said, his rumbling voice cutting through the fog of the fade. "All at once, we just were. Whole and aware of everything around us and of each other. Some believed we were something new to existence, something alien. Something not created from the mingling of light and dark. Our legends tell us we were the first and only things made from life itself; from the power that is created by the mingling of the light and the dark, but containing neither the light nor the dark within us. We do not know of a time when we did not exist, but that does not mean existence here did not precede us. The tales say that over time, something happened to the life that was created in the miasma of light and dark. Life evolved, it became more complex. It became something else. When that happened, something from beyond this existence took notice of this realm. Whatever it was, it was not of the dark. The being existed in a place where dark could not. We could sense that, when it reached out and touched us so long ago.

"Plenarius is what we named that place, but we could not get to it despite our best efforts. We could not bridge the gap between the realms as the being had. Much as mortals can perceive the veil between their world and the fade, we perceive the barrier between all the realms that occupy this existence, and the plane of Plenarius. But when we attempted to pass this barrier, we would become lost, and eventually find ourselves back in the fade. We tried many times. We did not know what awaited us there, but we yearned for the peace we felt emanate from Plenarius. We do not know why we felt so, but we were all certain that peace awaited us beyond this realm, and it is a belief we all have shared for time longer than you have words to express.

"Our legend holds that the being who lives beyond this realm wished us to join them, but they could not travel through the barrier to this side to assist us. But the entity could influence the light. It molded warriors out of pure light and life, and gave them will without any trace of the darkness. They were warriors of light, and immune to the effects of the darkness. The being from Plenarius also gave all warriors of light a gift. They know the way through the barrier instinctually. They are the only beings who can do this. And they are our guides," Andoral said.

"And being able to cleanse gods of the darkness, did the being give us that gift as well?" Lyssa asked.

"Perhaps. Before my brother and I, this had only happened once. When Andraste cleansed Peitho, we all felt it happening, like a ripple in a pond. We knew what she had done. We do not know if this was planned by the being from Plenarius, or a side effect of being created from only light. It could even be an attempt by the being to help the remaining gods rejoin their brethren. It is unknown.

"Typically, gods avoid the darkness. We understand that we can be corrupted by it if we linger in its presence too long. When our brother trapped us under the earth, we were weakened. We could not flee the evil we felt seeking out our power. And once it touched us, we were corrupted completely. There was no semblance of our mind remaining, merely our raw power, lead by the group mind of the taint.

When the woman called Flemeth performed a ritual to bind my spirit to flesh once again, much of what corrupted me was removed. Still, a small amount of the taint clung to me—such is the power of evil. The same was true of Urthemiel. But it seems the warriors of light are able to rid us of even this small amount of corruption, to cleanse us if you will," Andoral said.

"So... we were created to help the gods," Lyssa said.

"That is what the tales say. As is the case with such things, one can never know for sure," Urthemiel said. "Much time has passed since then, and even a god forgets things, given long enough. Do you remember your early infancy? The first few years of your life as you came into your consciousness fully? We have only the legends we had been able to stitch together from our dim recollections of our early existence."

"So... being a Grey Warden, being able to stop the Blight... it is just a coincidence?" Lyssa asked.

"No, it is no coincidence. If you like, I can tell you the history of how this came to be," Andoral said.

Lyssa turned and looked at Duncan, squeezing his hand. "I don't know how much time... we have. I need enough to speak with Duncan before you… before you go."

"Time is not passing here as you would perceive it. We can speak on this, if you wish it, and you will still be able to say what you need to your son," Andoral said.

"Then, I guess I am curious. To know your purpose in life, few if any, ever get that chance," Lyssa said.


	20. Chapter 20 : A History Unwritten

_**Chapter 20: A History Unwritten**_

"A wise sentiment," Andoral said nodding. "It is always best to know as much as you can, to assure that your decisions and actions are just. I will tell you what I can. Much is from writings that were long ago lost to the mortals, penned in ages barely hinted at in myth. While in Duncan's body, I studied these writings, piecing together the past. Some of what I know I learned from the whispers I heard from my brethren while we were trapped together for so long underground. Some is from Peitho's own studies; he left behind meticulous notes. They are written from his perspective, but I was able to read through the bias and see the truth."

"You keep mentioning this Peitho… who is he?" Lyssa asked.

"Peitho is our brother, the god of persuasion. You know him better as the Maker," Urthemiel said.

"The Maker? He is real then? So that story you told me," Lyssa said turning to Duncan.

Duncan nodded smiling, "It was all true. Not just a legend."

"Long ago," Andoral cut in, "when we first discovered the warriors of the light, many of our brethren left. There were once hundreds of gods, and the warriors of light were plentiful. It was easy to find a guide to lead one through to the other side. A few of us stayed behind. It is hard to fathom that decision now, so many ages ago, but at the time we felt we could help the mortals of this world. We thought they too, might be led to Plenarius. We taught them magic, hoping that perhaps they could find a way to cleanse themselves of their evil. After all, only mortals could be born as warriors of light. We did not understand this, but we thought it meant all mortals may be capable of shedding their darkness and becoming like the warriors, able to navigate the barrier between this realm and Plenarius.

"Despite our intentions, our presence was not wholly beneficial to mortals. One of our brethren, Peitho, became corrupted. He had always been fascinated by the darkness, and that was his folly," Andoral said.

Urthemiel interrupted him, "and ours for not interceding."

Andoral nodded. "Peitho spent too much time in contact with the dark, and he could no longer separate right from wrong. He watched the mortals abuse the things we had taught them. Instead of trying to rid themselves of darkness, many were embracing it. They welcomed it into their hearts. They invited demons into their bodies. Ultimately, they assaulted the gods themselves. They believed they could take our power and with it, that they could break into the other realm, and take it for themselves.

"Our brother Peitho was enraged by the mortal's acts. But he did not act directly. He was ever one to exert influence and get others to do his work for him. He took a new name—Maker. We all wondered at this, the implication of such a name clear. To the impressionable mortals, Peitho was declaring himself their creator. We should have stopped him then. A few of us even sought him out and tried to get him to see reason. But we are not immune to each other's powers. Peitho is the god of persuasion. It is difficult to argue with him, using reason or otherwise. He always has a way of turning the argument so that his actions seem just in the end. Even to me.

"Only a handful were unmoved by his rhetoric, defiantly demanding that he stop trying to manipulate the mortals. Dumat was the first to turn away from Peitho. They fought for many years. When we battle with each other, it is unlike anything mortals have ever engaged in. Our lives are endless, so our campaigns against each other are long, carefully planned, and subtle. In the end, Peitho triumphed by tricking Dumat. Once he had him in his power, Peitho cast Dumat deep underground. He crippled Dumat in a way that made him unable to shift himself from his dragon form. Dumat struggled for some time, but eventually rested, waiting for one of his brothers or sisters to come looking for him, and release him.

"Peitho realized that we would wonder what happened to Dumat. For a few years, he found ways to trick us all, to dissuade us from looking too hard. To distract us with other issues that seemed suddenly far more pressing than Dumat going off in a huff for a while. He was so clever. He kept at us all, keeping us each more engaged with what the other was doing, instead of what he was doing. Eventually he managed to imprison us all deep beneath the ground, just as he had Dumat. We were vaguely aware of what was happening on the surface, and dimly of each other.

"Once we were all disposed of, Peitho used his power to influence the mortals. He made them war against each other over ridiculous, fabricated mythologies he had made for them. Peitho believed that the less mortals there were, the better, so he encouraged his followers to aggressively spread their belief throughout the world. He believed the warriors of light would survive the inevitable conflicts, because they were often stronger and more powerful than their fellow mortals. But there was a flaw in his plan. The warriors of light are also very brave and selfless. They give of themselves without question. It is because of this, not because of lack of strength or prowess, that they often fell in battle. They would take on the most dangerous missions, to preserve their fellows from harm. They would fight the mightiest armies, even in the face of certain death, to save the villagers cowering in their homes. But our brother, after he began calling himself Maker, did not see this; either because the corruption blinded him to it, or because it made him uncaring. He continued to wield his influence through his followers, and stoke the flames of fanaticism until they were blistering. The mortals, believing he had created them, followed him blindly.

"Then something happened that Peitho hadn't planned for. Dumat was discovered by the darkspawn. We are beings of great power, and power calls out to darkspawn. The dark is ever seeking ways to destroy the light. Dumat became the first archdemon. His physical form was slain many times by the mortals that where being ravaged by that first blight. The mortals finally realized that simply killing his body wasn't enough. Of course it was eventually the warriors of light who banded together with each other, instinctively, that finally brought Dumat's tortured soul to rest. As I said, only a warrior of light can guide our souls to the next realm. When we are corrupted, our minds become things of pure rage and destruction. We are no longer ourselves, nor can we free ourselves from the grip of the taint. If our flesh becomes destroyed, our essence simply seeks out another vessel capable of holding us. A vessel corrupted with the taint.

"The will to survive is a strong one, and a soul knows nothing but instinct. But if a warrior of light were to slay us, to be so intimately connected with our physical form, so close when we were near death, then our souls would fly to it instead of seeking flesh. The light that comes from the warriors is compelling and welcoming. We do not fear entering their body, though we know it will be destroyed in the act, because the warriors do not perish. Only the flesh ceases, our souls both remain intact together. Once the flesh of our bodies has been shed, the warrior may lead us to Plenarius.

"Understand, it was never the tainted blood that led us to you, it was always the light. Somehow, you managed to discover a test all on your own that would show you which mortals were warriors of light. As I said, you are created only from the light. Your souls are immune to the corruption of the dark. Only warriors of light could survive welcoming the taint into themselves like that. But as you know, you pay a price. You become connected to the group mind that that flows through all things touched by the taint. And you can feel that all the darkspawn think about is destroying the light, and finding the power to do it. They perceive us only as that, power. But your minds... you warriors are drawn to us for different reasons. After a time, you will find yourselves seeking us out. You can sense us, because the darkspawn sense us. And you plunge yourselves into what you call the Deep Roads, trying to battle your way through the hordes of darkspawn that surround us, not knowing the purpose you are so instinctually compelled to pursue.

"Once the warriors of light found a way to detect each other, although they mistook it for a mystical bestowment of their innate powers, they banded together to create your Grey Wardens. They sought out the darkspawn and the archdemon. Despite being trapped underground and corrupted, Dumat still managed to find a guide to the next realm. You may call it coincidence. I call it intervention. Perhaps not divine, but intervention nonetheless.

"Peitho did not think the Blight a bad thing—it destroyed many mortals and made it easy to distinguish the warriors of light from the rest. But after some time alone, apart from his brothers and sisters for the first time in eons, Peitho became lonely. He took a bride—a beautiful warrior of light, not unlike yourself. Many gods took warriors as their companions. We are drawn to you. It is how we find you when we need you. Being near you makes us feel... at ease. Our very being becomes restful. It is a powerful feeling.

"But this warrior was like you in more ways than one. She also loved another. She also resisted the advances of a god, until he came before her in flesh. As you know, a god manifested is a difficult thing to resist. A god of persuasion, all the more so. The corruption in him allowed him to manipulate this warrior without compunction. Her name, as I am sure you know, was Andraste. Our brother became obsessed with her.

"Peitho managed to convince Andraste to betray her husband. He had warped her mind and body slowly, until she was his creature completely. The mortals believed she was chosen by their god to lead them into victory. Peitho took advantage of this, and he convinced Andraste that the magisters were evil, that they were the ones who had brought the Blight on mankind, in their lust for power they had no claim to.

"Peitho is a master manipulator, and Andraste was a brave and beautiful woman. Many followed her into the wars they started together. But Peitho was foolish. Andraste was a warrior of light, yes, but she was also a mortal. Her mortal body was destroyed before he could intervene. Peitho found Andraste in the fade as her body was breathing its last breath. Despite his corruption, Peitho had truly fallen in love with Andraste. He was devastated by her death. He had a choice. He could wreak revenge on those who took her from him, or he could go with her right then and travel to the next realm. His rage was almost endless at that moment, and he was about to put Andraste down. She reached out then, in the fade, to Peitho. Her body burned white hot in the living realm, and in the fade she cleansed Peitho of the corruption. Once free of the taint, Peitho's rage subsided. We all could feel it happening to him, as he became himself again. Such is the power of the cleansing. Then Peitho's path was clear. He left his body and followed Andraste into the next realm."

Andoral stopped talking and looked out into the fade around them.

"You may not think it is your purpose to help us, but for us, it seems too purposeful to be coincidence. You are our protectors and guides. In some cases our lovers. It is no wonder you chose the name Warden for yourselves. Ever have you been the caretakers of our souls," Urthemiel said passionately.

Lyssa looked at Duncan and touched his cheek. "Is that where you are going then, to this other realm. This Plenarius?"

Duncan nodded. "Yes."

"And the old gods who remain?" Lyssa asked turning to Andoral and Urthemiel.

"There are but two. I would have sought them out, but Peitho was very clever when he hid them away. It would take many more years than I had left in Duncan's flesh to find them, and the old rituals that would give us new flesh are no longer practiced. I would need to destroy the soul of another to come back into this world once my Duncan's body had worn out," Andoral said.

"I... killed a high dragon, some years back. It that who you are, Andoral?" Lyssa asked.

"No. If you killed a dragon, then that was probably all it was. An old god would have shown themselves to you, especially if they did not have the taint. I was responsible for the fourth blight. The ritual you undertook to save yourselves, that freed Urthemiel, that was not the first time such a ritual took place," Andoral said.

"What do you mean?" Lyssa asked.

"A mage by the name of Flemeth performed the ritual, many hundreds of years ago. She hailed from Tevinter. It was the Magisters in Tevinter that had come so close to enslaving us before. That was why Peitho concentrated his attacks on them. Flemeth had found an old magic, a binding ritual, that would trap the soul of an old god in the fade while leaving its body in the mortal world, free for the mage to occupy. As long as the mage inhabited the flesh body of the old god, they would be able to access great power.

"Flemeth knew the Grey Wardens were mounting an attack to end the fourth Blight. She used her considerable skill at seduction to trick the elven Grey Warden Garahel into lying with her before his final confrontation with me. When Garahel slew the archdemon that fateful day, Flemeth was there to make sure he perished by her hand once the deed was done. She did not want Garahel to ponder his unexpected survival, and seek her out.

"As a result of the ritual, for a time I remained trapped in the fade, my essence feeding into Flemeth's power. But you can only hold a god in your sway for so long, no matter how powerful a mage you are. I was eventually able to send suggestions to her. I sensed Andoral's awakening. I knew another Blight would be coming. I compelled Flemeth to send Morrigan to perform the ritual again. I feigned weakness, made Flemeth believe I was dying. Mortals know little about the ways of gods, so it was an easy enough ruse to perpetrate. She thought she would need a fresh god to create a new powerful vessel for herself. She intended to let Morrigan do all the work of securing the god, planning to then steal the babe from her," Andoral said.

Urthemiel spoke up then, "But Morrigan became attached to the child growing in her belly and ran away from her mother. Then it was only a matter of time before I was able to influence my flesh mother from within her belly. I began to gain control over Morrigan. I pushed my will on her, my words focused and simple; kill Flemeth. I pushed bits of old magic into Morrigan's mind, making certain she knew exactly how to do it."

Andoral nodded. He then picked up the tale once again, "Once Flemeth was dead, my tether to the living world was broken. I was free to find another host. I did not have any guilt about this, as I still had the taint in me, as did Urthemiel. I traveled about the fade, looking for a suitable host. The warriors of light stand out to us clearly. When I saw the child of light that was Duncan, I took the opportunity. A young soul would be easy to send away from its body. I attempted to wrest control, but... Duncan was unusually strong willed for a child. Though his flesh was so new, there was already a strong will within it. The will lashed out at me in defense and cleansed me unintentionally. Once I was cleansed, I realized what I was trying to do was wrong. But I also realized I had loosed Urthemiel onto the world, still tainted. I thought of everything Peitho had done, and I knew I needed to stop Urthemiel before that happened again.

"I gave Duncan awareness, forcing an entity to exist where before there had been only a will. I made it understand my plight. He was the one that decided we should work together. I told him of the dangers to his life—that our two souls trying to occupy the same body would not work for long. The only reason Flemeth got away with it is because she kept stealing new bodies as the old ones became too weakened from the strain. Yet Duncan still insisted. So here we are," Andoral said.

Lyssa looked around the fade, not knowing what else to say, but unwilling to release Duncan's hand. She felt the tears begin as she turned back to look at Duncan.

"This isn't how I wanted your life to be. When I found out that I was with child..." Lyssa started to say.

Duncan interrupted her, "I am a leader mother. We must make the difficult decisions so others don't have to suffer. Wisdom you passed to me."

Lyssa felt a sob escape her as she pulled Duncan to her. "I hope you find something out there."

"I will be waiting for you," he said as he pulled back.

"I guess it won't be that long, will it," Lyssa said sadly.

Duncan laughed a little, tears streaming down his own face. "About that, mother. We have assisted the gods after all. That historically merits a boon. I have asked Andoral and Urthemiel to give you a gift befitting your service to them. They have each done so. Partly as a favor to me, and in part in return for your sacrifice. I look forward to you and father producing an entire castle-full of brothers and sisters for me."

Lyssa looked at Duncan puzzled, "Duncan. I have had the taint for twenty years now, remember? There is no way...,"

"No. You and father no longer have the taint. Urthemiel took it from you; that was his boon. You are warriors of light, the taint was never part of your soul, only of your flesh. That is why it does not corrupt your mind or kill you as it does anyone else who comes in contact with it. Gods may not be able to cleanse the soul of the corruption, but the flesh—that is an easy enough task," Duncan said touching his mother's face.

Lyssa looked at Duncan for a moment as comprehension dawned on her. "Duncan...,"

"Do not worry about your age. Andoral has assured me you will bear healthy children, with easy births. He has made sure of that." Duncan said.

"Duncan," Lyssa said weeping anew. "I'd rather they give me you."

"I'm sorry mother. It is too late for that, but do not pity my departure. Ferelden will be safe. Perhaps... in time the Theirin line will be able to seek out the other two Old Gods, and free them before the darkspawn find them. Then the world will be free of the Blight forever," Duncan said.

Lyssa pulled back from him. She noticed he was slowly fading.

"Duncan no!" Lyssa whirled. "You told me I had time!" She screamed at Andoral and Urthemiel.

"Mother, you must let me go. Father is waking. You will frighten him needlessly if you stay here with me. Think of what he is waking to," Duncan said, his body becoming more transparent with each passing second.

"Duncan!" Lyssa said as she desperately grabbed for his hand.

Duncan reached out and caught his mother's hand, the warmth of his fingers fading.

"I'll be waiting for you mother. This is not goodbye."

Lyssa watched as Duncan, Andoral and Urthemiel all faded away. She looked around her, crying, wondering how she would get out of the fade. Then the fog around her began lifting. She had the sudden sensation of slow descent, like a leaf floating to the ground. When she landed, the world flashed from dull white mist to pitch black.

Lyssa opened her eyes. She was in her body, looking at the ceiling of the Captain's cabin. She turned her head left when she heard a groan come from that direction. Alistair was sitting up, touching the back of his head carefully.

Lyssa looked at her feet. Urthemiel's body lie there, dead. She stood and went to Alistair, her face wet with tears. Alistair reached out for her when he saw her. His face was lit with joy at seeing her moving again. But then his smile failed as he noticed her tears. Lyssa collapsed in his arms and let herself weep. Alistair stroked her hair, confused for a moment. Then he saw Urthemiel's body, and he remembered Duncan's dire prediction. He was on a one way trip, he had said. Alistair closed his eyes now, understanding Lyssa's grief. They had just lost their only child. His own tears were falling freely now. They sat entwined for a long time, silently consoling each other.

Gildre shook his head and looked over at them. He looked at the ground and saw the old god, dead. He could not be certain why they were both so grieved, but he guessed it. Everyone involved was here and accounted for, except Duncan. He leaned up against the wall and stared at the ceiling in silence.

After a time, they heard a soft knock on the door. Lyssa and Alistair were in no state to answer it; they didn't even look up at the sound. When Gildre finally opened the door, he found Connor standing outside, a pained expression on his face. Sten was standing behind him, dripping sea water onto the deck. Connor looked into the room and saw Lyssa and Alistair there. He tried to say something to them, but couldn't. He turned away and, his back to the door, he said, "There was nothing I could do." Connor began to walk away.

Gildre grabbed his friend and spun him back around into a tight embrace.


	21. Chapter 21 : A Night of Spirits

_**Chapter 21: A Night of Spirits**_

Teagan was at the docks to great Lyssa and Alistair when they returned. Sten's ship had been announced as it was seen cresting the horizon. Teagan had assumed it would be Connor, who was supposed to have returned to Ferelden several days before. Teagan hadn't been concerned as it was not uncommon for his nephew to wander a bit from time to time. When he saw Alistair and Lyssa disembarking from the ship, he was pleasantly surprised. He had not seen them in more than a year, and hadn't expected seeing them again anytime soon.

"What, tired of Seheron already? Back for some good home cooking, Alistair," Teagan shouted out to them.

But as they came closer, and he could see their faces, his own smile faltered. Then he saw the coffins being carried down, with great ceremony and reverence, behind them, by the other members of the party. The two Q'unari Grey Wardens, Dread and Bigfoot, were carrying one coffin. Sten, Gildre and Connor were carrying another. Teagan began worrying who could be in the coffins. He tried to count up all the people he knew were supposed to be there and account for them. He didn't see Jasper, so he assumed one might belong to the young Mage. But he was frantic still about who was in the other coffin. He approached Lyssa and Alistair, agitated but somber.

Lyssa could not meet Teagan's eyes. Alistair looked up at him, and Teagan thought the former King had aged more than years accounted for since he last saw him.

"Teagan, you will need to call the Landsmeet. There are some things we need to discuss," Alistair said wearily.

"The Landsmeet?" Teagan asked.

Then he looked back at the coffins. His mind raced; the Grey Wardens had sent him a message saying Duncan had left there not three nights ago suddenly, without announcing his departure or plans. Teagan hadn't been too concerned about it at the time. The Grey Wardens were very near Highever, and Teagan assumed Duncan had gone off to secretly visit whoever he was planning to woo. But now he began to put the pieces in place. Sten's ship had not sailed into port from the north, but rather from the west. Teagan's hand flew to his mouth.

He put his hand on Alistair's shoulder in a moment of shared consolation and grief.

"Alistair... I'm so sorry," Teagan said.

Alistair reached up and touched Teagan's hand. "Thank you, Teagan." His voice trembled just a little as he said it.

Teagan turned to look at Lyssa. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and her face was splotchy. He tentatively took a step toward her. She looked up at him, then stepped to him, wrapping him in her arms. He held her tightly back.

"I'm sorry Lyssa," Teagan said softly.

Lyssa stared over Teagan's shoulder blankly, the city of Denerim stretching out behind him. The city that had demanded so much from her and hers over the years. The capital of the country her son had given his life to protect. A country in a land that would never fathom the danger it had so narrowly escaped.

Lyssa sighed and stood up straight. She pulled back from Teagan and composed herself. She knew that no matter how much her people asked of her, she would give it, and more. Lyssa understood that was her life. The choices she had made long ago, the night she left Highever to become a Grey Warden, had set her on this path. And later, when she encouraged Alistair to try for the throne; when she stood before the Landsmeet—she supported his bid for the throne, and insisted she sit beside him. She knew even then what her life would become, so it was wrong to start complaining now. And she still felt the same compulsion she had back then; her drive did not descend from a lust for power, or out of greed. She was driven to her actions because she knew with every fiber of her being that it was the right thing to do, for Ferelden and for Thedas as well.

She turned to Alistair and smiled a little, grabbing his hand.

"We will need to send some aid to Highever, Teagan. They have been attacked by a maleficar. Many people have perished. We spoke with them briefly, but until we are reinstated as the King and Queen of Ferelden, we did not want to speak in an official capacity," Lyssa said, her tone suddenly clipped and businesslike.

Teagan looked from Lyssa to Alistair. He saw Alistair's own demeanor undergo a similar shift as he regained his own composure. Alistair stood up straight and adjusted his tunic.

"O..Of Course," Teagan said nodding.

"A funeral..." Lyssa faltered again for a moment, "should be planned for the King. He died a hero, sacrificing his life for the sake of Ferelden."

Teagan nodded.

"And for Jasper as well. He died in the service of his King," Alistair added.

Teagan wrung his hands as he spoke. "Are you sure you want to call a Landsmeet now? They are going to ask questions. Perhaps you would like time to grieve first."

"We cannot afford such luxuries, old friend. But thank you for thinking of us," Alistair said, his tone softening.

"Alright then, I shall see it done. The nobles will likely not be able to assemble until tomorrow at the earliest. Until then, I do not think anyone shall begrudge you the use of the castle," Teagan said. "After you have cleaned up, if you like, we can have a small private dinner. He was a Grey Warden after all."

"I think we would like that," Alistair said.

o=o=o

Gildre arrived in the dining room before anyone else. Although he wasn't a Grey Warden, he had attended many of these dinners over the years. It was a custom Lyssa introduced them to shortly after becoming queen. Her father had started it when she was little. Whenever one of his knights fell, he would have a private feast with all his knights in attendance to honor the fallen. They would drink a river of ale late into the night, telling stories of the fallen. It was a way for them to remember their comrade on their own terms, instead of reliving the memory of him falling in his last battle.

Gildre suddenly caught a wonderful scent; the aroma of freshly cooked food. He didn't think he would be hungry, considering the circumstances, but he found his stomach growling at mouth-watering odors wafting in from the kitchen. Grey Wardens started filtering in and sitting around the table. The mood started somber, but once the ale began flowing, the wardens began to open up, talking at first softly, then loudly and raucously about their favorite times with Duncan.

Gildre knew Jasper's name would not come up tonight. Despite his being a fixture at the castle for a few years, Gildre knew Alistair and Lyssa would respect his memory by not speaking of him as if he were an old friend. His passing was something that Gildre and Jasper's family would be grieving together soon enough.

As the room began to fill up with Grey Wardens, Gildre felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Alistair standing behind him, looking out over the crowded room.

"Big crowd," Alistair said with a sad smile.

"He may have been a little awkward, but we all loved our King, and he was one of us," Gildre said reassuringly.

Alistair smiled a little and nodded. "I hope they made enough food. This many Grey Wardens, the kitchens are likely to be bare for a week. Oddly, I haven't been as hungry of late. Earlier today, the cook brought me a lunch which I normally would have polished off. I could hardly eat half of it."

Gildre patted Alistair's stomach. "No longer quite the bottomless pit anymore, eh? Well there are worse things that can happen as you age than only being able to eat one or two people's worth of food."

Alistair turned to Gildre grinning. "Watch it, elf. You are no sprightly young thing yourself."

Gildre laughed and hugged Alistair just as Lyssa came into the room. As the other Grey Wardens saw her, they all grew silent out of respect. She smiled at them all and waved away the silence.

"I know you all expect me to act the grieving mother. Believe me, I do grieve the loss of my son. We all know Duncan was something special. He was no normal child, that is certain. Do you all recall the first time he bested you each in combat? Was he perhaps seven when he took you down, Samuel?" Lyssa asked, smiling out at them.

The mood lightened a little, as a few people let out restrained laughs. That was all it had taken. One brief moment showing firm resolve, and Lyssa had broken the tense mood. People were relaxing again as they poured more ale and went back to their small knots of conversation, reminiscing about their brave young King. Lyssa walked over to Alistair and Gildre, and took one of each of their hands in her own.

"Come. Let's honor Duncan, the Grey Warden," she said pulling them to the table.

As they sat, Sten came in, followed closely by Dread and Bigfoot. Connor and Teagan came in a moment later. They walked up to their seats near the head of the table. Alistair and Lyssa sat side by side at the head, looking out across a sea of friendly, familiar faces. The food came out on trays. Heaps of roasted meats, vegetables of all kinds, various breads, and sweets were placed all around the table. The Grey Wardens filled their plates and laughed as they shared stories of quests and battles. The ale was refilled time and time again. The room began to warm and fill with the raucous laughter of the Wardens. Their cheeks rosy from the ale, late in the night, they quieted a bit as they went around the room, re-telling their favorite stories of Duncan.

"He was at my joining," said an old dwarf whose beard was flecked thickly with foam. "I remember looking at that cup of blood and thinking, that's going to taste worse than my wife's homemade elderberry wine."

The room laughed uproariously and the dwarf continued, "So I turn to the lad. He was only eight at the time. I figured he would tell me the truth. I asked him what it tasted like. He turns to me, his face completely passive and says, 'It smells like the back end of a Mabari but don't worry. It tastes a bit like spoiled ale, so I don't think you'll mind.'"

They all laughed as the dwarf took another swig of his ale smiling.

"He was a bright lad," Teagan said raising his mug to his lips. "We were heading to Redcliffe castle shortly after his coronation. It was just us and a few knights. Just like his parents, he didn't like to ride with too large an escort," Teagan said raising his glass to Lyssa and Alistair who smiled at him.

"I think they all were afraid if too many guards were around when trouble broke out, they wouldn't get their piece of the action," Teagan said good-naturedly. The room burst into laughter.

"I wouldn't have picked us if I were a group of roving bandits, but I think this one particular set of blokes had spent too much time too deep in their ale. They came upon us, barely able to stand. They were brandishing their swords and demanding we pay them a toll to pass them by. I was about to order the guards to lay into them when Duncan stopped me. He leaned forward on his horse and said, 'I'd love to, but the toll collectors back a way took my last sovereign. They told me to let you know they'd be by later to drop off your cut.' And I'll be damned but those bandits believed him. The let us right through and thanked us to boot," Teagan said, laughing with the rest of the Wardens. "We got to Redcliffe and sent the guards back to take care of them. They were still waiting by the roadside for their cut."

The room laughed again as Teagan wiped a tear from his eye.

"He was a fine fighter," Connor said, his cheeks bright red from the ale. "The only one among you lot I have ever seen disarm the queen. And I've seen most of you try!"

The room laughed again and raised their glasses in the air cheering.

Alistair turned to watch Lyssa as the stories continued. Lyssa downed the last of the ale in her cup. He put his chin in his hand and reached out to touch her knee. She turned at the touch. She looked at him for a moment, and then put her own chin in her hand, imitating him. They stared at each other for a few minutes, saying nothing as the room continued to fill with cheers and laughter as more and more embellished and exaggerated stories of Duncan's prowess where shared. Lyssa reached out and touched Alistair on the cheek. The melancholy look had gone from his eyes. She knew he still grieved, but the worst was over. She could see that acceptance had set in as she looked at him. Duncan was gone. But they were warriors, and that was their life. Friends, family, all could be lost in the turn of a moment. Duncan went into that forgotten thaig fully aware what was going to happen. He did what he had to do to save them. She would not dishonor his gift to her by wasting a single moment wallowing in grief. From the stories that continued to be told around the room, she knew Duncan had not wasted any of his time here. Lyssa broke her gaze from Alistair and stood to face the room. Alistair looked up at her, admiring the soft glow her face had right now; how it looked when she had had just a little too much ale.

Lyssa raised her glass and all the Wardens around the table grew silent, raising their own.

"To Duncan," she said. Alistair stood and raised his own glass.

"To Duncan," he repeated. "A great king, and an even better Grey Warden."


	22. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

Not a year passed before Alistair and Lyssa had their second child. The loss of Duncan had been hard on the people of Ferelden, but news of the queen's pregnancy had brought them hope. Lyssa and Alistair named their new son Andrew. He was greeted with tremendous fanfare by both the nobles and commoners alike.

The nobles had wanted to know exactly what had happened to Duncan, of course, when Lyssa and Alistair had returned with what little remained of him. Some even openly questioned how they could be certain that what Alistair and Lyssa had brought back with them was Duncan. Lyssa and Alistair had already discussed this during the trip back. They had agreed that the truth would simply seem too outlandish to the nobles. Instead they spun a tale of a terrible maleficar who had managed to tear a hole in the veil in Highever. The physical evidence of destruction in and around Highever was enough to sell the story to the nobles.

Duncan, Alistair had said, had discovered the maleficar when traveling to Highever. In order to save the city from destruction, he fought the maleficar himself. He had been terribly and mortally wounded in the process. Lyssa asked that his remains be interred in the Grey Warden cemetery in Amaranthine.

Connor eventually married Claudia. The circle tower, in need of a new first enchanter, asked Connor's suggestion. After a time, Connor sent them the name of a Dalish mage. Aneirin was eventually convinced to take over as First Enchanter, with Irving's gentle persuasion. Connor stayed in Ferelden as castle mage for years, far into his dotage.

Sten went back to Seheron, taking a dozen Mabari with him. After Arishok passed, Sten took over and ruled the Q'unari for a time. Diplomacy continued to flourish between Ferelden and Seheron while Sten ruled. As a result, the Qun gained a foothold in Ferelden. It soon became at least as popular a belief system in Ferelden as the elven Pantheon. Since their Arishok began commanding it, the Q'unari were also now rarely seen without at least one war hound traveling with them. Some inns had begun posting "No Mabari" policies, which the Q'unari ignored; as every so often a Q'unari would arrive alone from the wilds, save for his pack of twenty hounds.

Dread and Bigfoot took command of the Grey Warden barracks in Seheron. The Grey Wardens of Seheron soon became famous for their ferocious tenacity in battle, often fighting off hordes of darkspawn that greatly outnumbered their own ranks. The Seheron Grey Wardens made frequent sorties into the Deep Roads with the Legion of the Dead, helping them to drive back the darkspawn. They even managed to help the dwarves reclaim several thaigs, allowing them to expand their reach beneath most of Ferelden for the first time in ages.

Gildre continued to live the life as a bachelor. He never found anyone to settle down with. He was not alone, however, when he eventually did meet his end. Many years after Andrew had taken over the throne, while Lyssa and Alistair were traveling to Amaranthine, they were ambushed by a group of Tevinter mages. Nobody understood why the mages had attacked them, until the mages began shouting that the King and Queen had killed their gods. During the attack, Gildre was mortally wounded. With no spirit mages to help heal him, Gildre passed away surrounded by the people he cared about most in the world. He was buried alongside his brother in the Grey Warden sanctuary of Amaranthine.

o=o=o

Teagan lie in his bed, too weak to even get up to go to the bathroom. Connor sat beside him, his own red hair turning gray. Teagan started a little when he heard the knock at the door. It opened and Lyssa poked her head in to look at him. Her hair was white, and her face wrinkled, but Teagan still found himself blushing when she smiled at him.

She stepped into the room followed by Alistair. They came and stood by the bed looking down at Teagan. Alistair put his hand on top of Teagan's and smiled.

"I have to tell you, old friend," Teagan said grinning up at Alistair weakly, "I never expected you to outlive me."

"No. It wasn't on my calendar either," Alistair said patting Teagan's hand.

A young man stepped into the room. He was in his early twenties and roguishly handsome. His hair was the color that Lyssa's had been when she was much younger, and he had her sharp features. His brown eyes twinkled as they met Teagan's. He approached the bed. He had a warrior's build, and was slightly taller than his father.

"Andrew. I see you were able to sneak away from the nobles," Teagan said. He coughed dryly.

"Yes," the young man said happily. "Jeanette is very good at coming up with excuses. When she's this pregnant she gets kind of bossy. I don't think they'd tell her no if she asked to spend the entire royal treasury on a giant bow to wrap around the castle. Duncan and Gildre wanted to come too, but Jeanette was afraid they were a little too young to travel just yet."

"I understand. I'm glad you came," Teagan said. "So tell me Alistair. This is my last chance to know. Are you finally going to tell me what really happened in Highever all those years ago?"

Alistair chuckled. "Is this a last request then? Are you sure you wouldn't rather have some pie, or perhaps a kiss from Lyssa?"

Teagan blushed and Lyssa elbowed Alistair in the ribs. "You're a grandfather now. Act a bit more your age, you aren't a boy in the clubhouse with his mates any more. Don't listen to him Teagan. You can have all three of those things, if you like."

Lyssa leaned forward and kissed Teagan on the cheek.

Teagan laughed a little, and that brought on a short coughing fit. "Well if I knew all I had to do was die to steal you from that man, I would have done it ages ago."

Alistair laughed at Teagan. "Keep talking like that and I may change my mind about bringing you that pie."

Alistair sighed then and put his hand on Teagan's arm. "Well, I hope you have a while still. This is going to take a bit of explaining."

Author's End Note:

I hope you enjoyed the trilogy as much as I enjoyed writing it. I think I'm going to take a break from Dragon Age for a while though. Thanks for reading!


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